


Little things

by anddirtyrain



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, minor linctavia and murphamy on the side
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7492050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anddirtyrain/pseuds/anddirtyrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa Woods is where she’s always wanted to be. She’s the head of her family’s firm, a good sister and a better aunt. She lives in a nice apartment in a city she loves. She’s where she’s always wanted -but the view from the top is quite lonely.</p><p>Tired of waiting for a ‘true love’ that may never come, Lexa decides to adopt a baby and start a family by herself. Blindsided by the challenges of motherhood, she hires Clarke Griffin -a med school graduate, residency drop out working as a doula- to help her settle down after the baby comes home. </p><p>It’s hardly as easy as it sounds, but it ends up being the best choice she ever made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace, the soul that knows it not, knows no release from little things." -Amelia Earhart_

 

.

.

.

 

 

Lexa pushes the silver button on her answering machine, loosening her tie as she gets ready to listen to the messages piled up from a long week.

 

“Hi Lexa, this is Lincoln. Just wanted to let you know me and O loved that restaurant reservation. Thanks for the dinner, we really needed it -Ty has been teething and it hasn’t been such a walk in the park. Oh, and I also wanted to let you know I’m making lasagna this weekend, if you want to drop by and have dinner with us. Ty misses his aunt. Take care of yourself, okay? Love you. Bye. Say bye to your aunt. Say-”

 

“Miss Woods, I’m sorry to bother you, but the clients from Viacom called again and they wanted to speak with you directly. Should I schedule a call for Monday or will you be coming in during the weekend again?”

 

She takes off her suit jacket, draping it over the back of the couch. She toes off her shoes before climbing on the soft leather. It’s Friday. The apartment is quiet. Anya is spending another week still on the other side of the world, and Lincoln is too busy with work and his family to visit -not that she can blame him.

 

“Miss Woods, this is Adam Fisher, the files you requested should be at your desk first thing this week. My team and I look forward to working with your company.”

 

She’s never been one for feeling lonely. Part of it has to do with the fact her parents adopted Anya when she was 7, and Lincoln not 2 years after that, and she didn’t know peace or quiet since then. Part of it is that it’s never been in Lexa to be lazy, she’s always had a project to complete, a deadline to meet -a way to do and be better. Something to strive for. But she’s the head of her family’s consulting firm now, these days she has no one to report to.

 

“Hey, baby girl. I know I’m not there at the moment but let’s act like I was. Please don’t be sitting around drinking wine and moping like a 40 year old man. Please. Get up from the couch. If you are not in the couch, ignore that part of my message. Or shit, replay it when you eventually end up in the couch. I went swimming with sharks today, I’m sending you and Linc some pictures- we need to take a family trip soon. If all goes well I’ll be back Thursday next week. Feel free to invite your older sister for drinks. Love you little freak!”

 

She smiles faintly at Anya’s message. She’s spot on, except for the wine. And if Anya was here she’d be pushing her to get dressed and go out, but Lexa doesn’t have a taste for it anymore. It’s not that she’s old -she’s barely flirting with 30- but it feels empty. Her last serious relationship went down the drain years ago, and apart from the odd one night stand she doesn’t have it in herself to put effort into meeting new people. She feels at an impasse, stuck -and as she looks around her empty apartment- maybe a little lonely.

 

She pulls her laptop from her coffee table, opening it and watching the tabs she was looking at this morning -and every day for the past week- come to life.

 

Smiling children look up at her from the overly cheerful website, big block letters spelling ‘So you want to adopt’ written across the top.

 

She remembers Ty’s big brown eyes and his gummy smile every time she visits, the way he clings to Lincoln without a care in the world…The loudness of his apartment and the way it seems full of life, colorful blocks on every corner. She knows what she wants. It just terrifies her to accept it.

 

It’s been something that’s always been on her mind. Her last relationship lasted nearly three years, and on that last leg before it went badly they’d spoken about engagement, about children. Lexa was too focused on her work, too concerned with being the best she could be after her parent’s death, and when Anya declined the offer to run the family business, Lexa redoubled her efforts at work to be a good boss when the time came. She stayed in D.C., giving up on moving away like Anya did to open branches elsewhere. Her college sweetheart, Melanie, had resented it. It took a lot of her time. And so her girlfriend went on to find someone who could be married to her instead of her work. Seems ironic now. Lexa has all the time in the world these days, just no one to spend it with.

 

Lexa looks at her phone, then at the number on the bottom of the page.

 

It scares her, even thinking about it, but her heart also feels the most awake it has in months when she thinks that sort of carefree happiness Lincoln has could also be hers.

 

Lexa reaches for her phone.

 

She feels stuck -and this is a step.

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

It’s her first option.

 

Getting pregnant never goes through her mind, and it’s not so much the thought of her body changing out of her control and not being able to fend for herself, but the fact both of her siblings are adopted, and it made all of their lives better. It doesn’t occur to Lexa to bring a child into the world herself when there are so many already who need homes.

 

She schedules an appointment with a Nissly from the private adoption agency, set first thing in the morning on Monday.

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

The train is quiet Sunday afternoon.

 

By no means empty -there are people commuting from works that get no pause, regardless of the day of the week, and a few college students certainly en route to a party. And Lexa, on her way to visit her little brother.

 

Lincoln lives in Baltimore. He moved for college and after that, once he and Octavia moved in together, part of Lexa knew he would never come back. She can be there by train in 35 minutes, but it’s not the same as him living down the hall from her. She still misses that a little, even if it’s been a decade.

 

Their apartment building sits in a nice enough part of town, not as nice as he could afford if he’d gone on to work at the firm like she and Anya, but he has his own tastes, and Lexa can respect that.

 

She knocks softly when she gets to their floor, and Octavia -fierce, always a little too wild for Lexa to swallow Octavia- opens the door.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Octavia,” Lexa greets.

 

“Lincoln is out back,” she says.

 

Lexa walks in, taking off her scarf. The apartment is messy as usual, but with a homely quality to it that Lexa never did manage to recreate in her own. There are scratch marks on the floor and baby clothes on the couch, mid-fold, while the smell of food wafts in from the adjoining kitchen.

 

“Where’s my favorite boy?” she asks, stepping out into the balcony.

 

“Ty is taking his nap, so you better mean me.”

 

Lexa smiles as Lincoln wraps his arms around her, nearly lifting her off the floor.

 

“Good to see you, sis,” he says. “How have you been? How’s work?”

 

“Same as usual.” She feels a small pang for a second that her only constant is work. It’s what she’s always asked about, but it doesn’t feel as fulfilling as it used to. Anya has her constant travels and Lincoln has his family, and Lexa has work.

 

“Anya called you?” Lincoln asks.

 

“Here on Thursday,” Lexa answers.

 

“So she said.” He rolls his eyes, going back inside. Anya does have a tendency of going away for longer than expected. “I’m not going swimming with her,” Lincoln says. “Don’t want my child to become a pint-sized shark treat.”

 

“I think taking Ty to the ocean would be a great idea,” Octavia pipes up from the couch.

 

“You would,” Lincoln says, leaning over the armrest to kiss Octavia’s lips.

 

Lexa looks away.

 

“I’m okay with the ocean,” Lincoln says. “Just… not any my sister picks. Do you need any help with that?” he asks, nodding toward the clothes Octavia is folding. “Dinner is almost ready.”

 

“I’m good,” Octavia says. “Get your sister a drink. Enjoy it for me, Lexa, would you?”

 

“She’s still breastfeeding,” Lincoln explains, as Lexa follows him into the small kitchen. “Red or white?” he asks, but Lexa isn’t thinking about wine. Her heart beats fast when she realizes this is her chance to talk to him.

 

“Um...I…” She shakes her head. “I wanted to talk to you about something, actually.”

 

“Is everything okay?” Lincoln asks, serious all of a sudden. It’s what she always loved about him. He was a caring kid, careful. Always worrying about others, too noble for his own good.

 

“Everything is fine,” Lexa says. “I just wanted to tell you…I’m planning to adopt.”

 

“You’re…” His arms are around her in a second, and she laughs.

 

“I’m just talking to the adoption agency,” she says. “It’s going to take a while, I think.”

 

Lincoln pulls away.

 

“Still…That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.” He puts his hand on her shoulder, and Lexa doesn’t resent him growing taller than her this time. “You’re going to be an amazing mom.”

 

A cooing sound comes from the baby monitor on top of the breakfast island, and Lincoln moves in a second. Lexa wonders if she’ll develop that skill in time.

 

“I think we should tell someone the news,” he says.

 

Ty’s room is painted pale green, and the boy stand by the side of his crib, somehow bigger than when Lexa saw him last, two weeks ago.

 

“Hey, baby boy,” she coos gently, and he wobbles on his still unstable legs, smiling widely.

 

“Wanna know something Ty?” Lincoln asks as he gets him out of the crib. “You’re getting a cousin! You’re going to have someone to play with. Yes.”

 

She receives the baby with open arms, rejoicing in the sweet baby smell and the softness of his little body as he clings to her shoulder. She’s still holding him when they tell Octavia. Lexa wants to get defensive, when the woman looks dubious at first, but then a warm, honest smile comes over her, and the slight tension is gone.

 

Lexa could never be upset while her holding her nephew anyways.

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

Lexa sits ramrod straight in the chair, focusing on not allowing her knee to jump up and down. The last time she got such an urge to bite her nails she was 10.

 

Nissly walks around her office, collecting this and that in the matter of papers and pamphlets. Her apparently sweet disposition and maturity -she looks about 50 or so- do nothing to ease Lexa.

 

She can make people sweat with a single look in the office, but meeting the woman who might very well decide if she’s fit to care for a baby it’s another matter entirely.

 

The woman is gentle while she explains though, and -Lexa appreciates this- thorough.

 

“I can’t lie, there are several factor that may affect the wait time, marital status for example. There isn’t a legal restriction, of course, but you should know that single applicants are selected less often by birth parents. You will be adopting as a single, correct?”

Lexa nods.

 

“Age also plays a role, sexual orientation-”

 

“Sexual orientation?”

 

“Some adoption agencies have a policy against placing babies with homosexual parents,” Nissly explains straight-forwardly, before looking at Lexa. When she does, a surprised yet knowing look comes over her face. “We are not one of those agencies, Miss Woods,” she assures her. “And state law does not prohibit it, so at the end of the day, it is up to the birth parents to choose.”

 

She pushes another pamphlet toward Lexa.

 

“We will show your profile to expectant mothers, and it is possible you may receive a call from them or a request to meet them in person before they choose. We will call you before hand. Some times, though these cases are rare, something we call ‘drop-in-the-lap’ adoptions happen. A birth mother will contact us from the hospital, wanting to choose adoption for her soon-to-be-born baby. In these we simply call prospective parents who would be okay with taking a baby so quickly. Would you be?”

 

Lexa nods.

 

“In any case, after the child is born, the mother has to wait a day to give her consent to the adoption, and she has a week to, well, change her mind and keep her child. After this week it is extremely unlikely the child can be removed from its adoptive parents,” Nissly explains. “You said over the phone, your were familiar with adoption?”

 

“Well, I was 7. It all seemed a lot…simpler, back then.”

 

“I know it’s a lot of information to take in at once, but if you are confident adoption is the way you want to build your family, here at American Adoptions we will be with you every step of the way.”

 

Lexa doesn’t buy for a second Nissly’s happy-go-lucky demeanor, knowing she will be spending thousands to deserve it, but she does believe this is what she wants to do, and so she agrees to work with them. She schedules another appointment -she doesn’t feel comfortable yet starting with the procedures when Anya doesn’t know.

 

Still, information at hand, everything begins to feel more and more real.

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

Lexa doesn’t remember the last time she saw Bellamy Blake.

 

 

In a non-professional setting, that is. She sees him every other week at work, though, one of the dozen or so managers that report to her. She racks her memory for a answer, and comes up empty. It was probably a birthday. Lincoln’s, maybe. Last year. Apart from her parents, may they rest in peace, Lexa never knew anyone who’d adopted children, and she wants a more straight forward answer. She doesn’t buy the sugar-coated crap the adoption agency wants to sell her. It seem too good to be true. That’s where Blake comes in.

 

 

She hired him last year, at Lincoln’s suggestion. The man said quite firmly that he didn’t like handouts, and she assured him that if he didn’t perform well she’d fire him, regardless if they shared a nephew or not.

 

He’s married, to a man Lexa barely remembers from the last office party she attended only for a few minutes. And they adopted a child recently. She knows this because Octavia mentioned it, and Lexa signed the paid parental leave herself.

 

“You called for me, Miss Woods?” he asks at the door, and Lexa signals for him to come in.

 

“Yes, Blake.” Now that he’s here, and looking expectantly at her -she’s not quite sure what to say. “You know Lincoln and Octavia…Uh...” Saying they are dating sounds overly simple for a couple who has a child together, but they aren’t married and Lexa doesn’t know exactly how to describe their relationship other than something quite special- something she wishes she had. She settles for: “Your sister is with my brother.”

 

“I’m aware,” Bellamy answers, crinkling his nose. “Is there something wrong with Lincoln?”

 

“No, I just mean…” Lexa takes a breath. “We’re sort of family, aren’t we?”

 

“…I suppose.”

 

She decides to get right down to business.

 

“I understand you and your husband, Jonathan, adopted a child recently.”

 

Bellamy’s face lights up at the words, and Lexa once again gets that longing she’s becoming familiar with. How does that feel?

 

“Yes, it’ll be 3 months next week,” Bellamy says. “Thanks again for the paid leave, by the way, it really helped us to settle down with Alex.”

 

“Yes, of course.” Lexa’s parents were adamant about offering benefits to working parents, and it was ingrained in her -much like their desire for a large family, she’s come to find out. She looks at Bellamy. “Actually, I was thinking- I am planning-”

 

“Lexa.” Bellamy has never called her by her name, it’s inappropriate in the office and they have never hung out much outside of it for it to be normal. Their siblings have a kid together, yes, but they’re barely more than acquaintances. So it stops her fidgeting, makes her pay attention. “Lincoln and O…they might have mentioned something the last time I visited.” Of course they did. “Look, you’re gonna be fine. You’re welcome to have lunch with me and John whenever you like, okay? And you can ask anything. Having a kid it’s…both easier and harder than it seems. But it’s worth it. And all the hoops you have to jump through to adopt are worth it, too.”

 

“Thank you…Bellamy.”

 

He smiles.

 

“No problem, boss.”

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

“I’m thinking about adopting.”

 

Anya coughs the straight vodka straight on to the shiny black surface of the bar. It was always better to go with honesty with her, plain, brutal honesty. One of the guys down the bar snickers, and Anya doesn’t bother to flip him off.

 

“A kid? You want a kid?”

 

Lexa nods, shy for the first time in front of her sister.

 

“That’s…That’s a big step, Lex. I mean…” Anya slaps her chest, and asks the bartender for another round before downing Lexa’s shot.

 

“Shouldn’t I meet someone nice first?” Lexa asks, mockingly. “Get married?”

 

Anya is at a loss of words.

 

“I don’t want to wait. I don’t know why I should, if it’s something I want. It’s my life, right?”

 

Anya looks carefully at her.

 

“So…a baby. And here I thought I left for only three weeks.” The bartender brings back their drinks, and Anya wastes no time throwing back another one. “Can I ask why?”

 

Lexa take the cool shot glass between her fingers, stalling. She doesn’t know if she can articulate it out-loud.

 

“You could tell me now,” Anya says. “Or I could wait until I get another two vodkas in you.”

 

Lexa downs the shot, wincing as the vodka burns through her throat. She’s used to wine, and scotch, neat. She can hold her alcohol, but she’s never had a taste for Anya’s cheap, rocket fuel stuff. She just hopes it works as well when it comes to liquid courage.

 

“I just want what Lincoln has,” she says quietly, a little ashamed. “You know the way Ty looks at him and Octavia?”

 

Anya nods. “Our baby brother is a damn good dad.”

 

“Imagine that.”

 

“It’s not my thing, Lex,” Anya says. “I thought it wasn't yours either.”

 

Lexa thought that too.

 

It’s not that she was averse to children. She wasn’t around too many growing up, but she did like visiting the foster homes her parents donated to, and the maternity wings of the hospital when they took care packages for new moms.

 

It’s just Lexa has always thought it’s bullshit, when people act like the best possible thing a woman could do with her life is become a mother -she never bought it. Anya didn’t either. She’s always thought it was dumb to reduce a woman to what her uterus could do. That belief that if you chose not to have kids you would somehow feel unfulfilled forever always ticked her the wrong way, pushed too many gender roles on her she was uncomfortable with. She used to think that if she ever became a mom people might forget everything worthwhile she did as a businesswoman and focus on the fact she popped out a kid. Men didn’t get that sort of treatment.

 

She still thinks that. But she also knows that what people might think doesn’t matter. She knows that she wants to share her success with someone. She wants a family, something more permanent than a romantic relationship. It doesn't have to be the best thing she ever does, but it is a thing she wants to do.

 

“I guess I should have figured you'd eventually get the baby fever,” Anya says. “You were always a big softy,” she teases Lexa.

 

“Anya…My apartment is empty.” Lexa can blame the alcohol for making her too honest, but she’s barely buzzed.”It’s empty all the time. And… and relationships don’t last, and even if they did, what’s the point? Who am I going to leave the firm to?”

 

“You’re literally 29 years old Lexa, don’t go writing a will just yet.”

 

“I mean…what will the point be, 20 years from now? I’ll be sitting in my apartment and having wine and regretting not doing this while I still could.” It’s probably what she’s afraid of, that her life will stay the way it is forever.

 

“You could still do it then,” Anya says. “There’s not an age limit to adoption.”

 

“There is, actually. 45 years old if you’re adopting an infant.”

 

“Oh, it’s serious,” Anya mutters. “You’ve done your research. That means it’s serious. I’m going to be an aunt again. Oh, boy.”

 

“It’s just…even if I wait, I don’t want to be too old to take my kid to the park, or play with them. What if I get arthritis?” Lexa asks, and Anya snorts.

 

“And even if I wait,” Lexa continues. “Between now and then… I’ll be alone.”

 

“Don’t go getting a baby because you feel alone, Lexa,” Anya says.

 

“I’m not,” Lexa says firmly. And her words make her realize the choice is already made. She’s doing this. “I’m adopting a baby because I want to be a mom.”

 

Anya smiles slightly, and it might be a trick of the lighting when her dark eyes seem to glint with wetness.

 

“You do know you're not going to have time for yourself until the kid learns to wipe its own ass.”

 

“I know,” Lexa says.

 

“No more candles lying around your apartment either,” Anya pushes.

 

“…Yes,” Lexa says regretfully. “I know.”

 

“And you wont get any sex with a crying baby in the apartment. And dating will be a nightmare.”

 

“Because my romantic life is so wonderful right now,” Lexa points out.

 

Anya smiles, brightly this time.

 

“I’m with you Lexa, 100%.” Lexa finds herself enveloped in a quick, tight hug -which coming from Anya is strange. She hugs her back, and it’s partly because of the vodka, but Lexa can’t help the tears that wet her eyes.

 

“Anya, the outfits are so small,” she says into her shoulder. They break apart in a fit of laughter, and Lexa pointedly looks away while Anya wipes her eyes.

 

Lexa does the same. Anya’s support means the world to her. Her sister is one of the few people who -fights or no fights- has always been there for her.

 

“One last thing,” Anya says. “Who’s going to take care of the business while the baby gets settled in?”

 

“Well...” Lexa winces, toying with the shot glass. “Actually, I was hoping…”

 

“Oh no. No.”

 

Lexa gives her a smile that got her away with things when she was little, and Anya gives a long suffering sigh.

 

“Fine,” Anya says finally, ordering another round of drinks. “Good thing you’re paying.”

 

 

//

 

 

Anya sits to Lexa’s right and Lincoln to her left, throwing jokes back and forth about Anya’s time in Tibet.

 

Octavia dubbed Lincoln and Anya the ‘Woods terrors’ pretty early on when she and Lincoln started dating, and even if Lexa had her doubts about the girl, there’s no denying the tittle fits them.

 

Lexa was the typical middle child, just a year older than Lincoln and four years behind Anya; though she was a bit rowdy as a child she was never the wilder one, that tittle went to her sister, nor was she the most gentle, that was always Lincoln. Now, the Woods terrors are almost synchronized as they live in the same city, at least while Anya is in the states. Lexa drops by Lincoln’s almost every weekend if she can, but it still doesn’t eliminate that feeling of missing something, of being left on the outside.

 

A piece of bread flies to the middle of the dinner table, and Ty laughs delighted from his high chair at his throw. Octavia cheers him on instead of getting upset, and Lincoln laughs as he picks up the food.

 

“You ready for this?” Lincoln asks Lexa.

 

She simply smiles. She is.

 

 

 

When Lexa gets home, however, to a long message from Nissly -she’s not so sure.

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

“The adoption agency matched me with a woman.” Lexa exhales the sentence in a single breath, to the surprise of Lincoln and Anya -or what she can see of their rotating images in her laptop, where they’re skyping.

 

“Already? Lexa, that’s great!” Lincoln exclaims.

 

“Congratulations, baby-girl,” Anya tells her.

 

“Her name is Costia Mckenzie,” Lexa says. “She’s 27 years old. Nissly -the woman from the adoption agency- said she already has two other children to look after and can’t handle the financial burden.”

 

She’s listened to Nissly’s message at least a dozen times, and by now knew her last sentence by heart. She’s repeated it with a knot in her throat at least a dozen times more. ‘At the end of the day, she just wants to give her baby a good life, and that’s what you can offer,’ Nissly had said.

 

“She’s having a boy,” Lexa tells her brother and sister, already imagining a small baby boy, swaddled in blankets and looking up at her with the complete trust children do, and that Lexa has never known. “She’s 7 months pregnant,” she says, beginning to worry. “That’s so soon. It doesn’t even give me a lot of time to fix up the nursery.”

 

“Just say the word and I’ll be there,” Lincoln promises. “I could help you assemble the crib.”

 

“Something tells me it’s not in Lexa to make an IKEA run for baby things,” Anya says with her usual humor, but her eyes are warm. “Her kid is going to be wearing thousand thread count diapers.”

 

“Funny,” Lexa fires back.

 

“Don’t be nervous, kid. Three months is a long time,” Anya says.

 

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Lexa replies.

 

“It never does,” Lincoln tells her. “Are you scared?

 

Lexa thinks about it, about the pounding in her heart when she got the message, the way she’s been buying little baby things here and there ever since she passed the home study, and fear isn’t the first thing in her mind.

 

“No,” she tells him. “I can’t wait.”

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

Costia McKenzie isn’t what Lexa expects. She knows how hard the decision to put your child up for adoption must be, specially when it’s not because you don’t want him but because you lack the resources to care for him, and so maybe it’s a bit stereotypical but Lexa expected an older woman, a tired woman.

 

Costia Mckenzie is pretty, Lexa notices that much when she walks into the small coffee shop Costia picked to meet with her. She’s sitting at a table near the back with Nissly from the adoption agency, a young girl sitting by their side. 

 

Nissly makes the introductions, and Costia’s handshake is as soft as she looks.

 

“Miss Woods.”

 

“Please, call me Lexa.”

 

“Lexa.” Costia puts her hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “This is my daughter Julie. Her brother is at home, my sister is taking care of him for me.”

 

Lexa nods, and bends down to the girl’s height to shake her hand. Julie gives her a small smile, missing her front tooth.

 

Lexa sits at the table and offer to treat Costia and her daughter to whatever they might like. Julie’s eyes light up, and the little girl asks her mom if she can order brownies. After an encouraging nod from Lexa, Costia accepts, but refuses to order anything herself.

 

Once her daughter is quietly eating on the corner of the table, Costia tells Lexa how she found the agency, how she picked Lexa’s profile.

 

“I have a full time job, and I’m raising two children already… I can’t take time off work to take care of a newborn, and my sister helps out with the two little ones but she has her own family…” she trails off. Lexa can see all the conflicting emotions in her eyes. Costia shakes her head. “What about you? Nissly said you’d be adopting him by yourself. Do you have family?”

 

“My parents passed away a few years ago, but I have a brother and a sister. They live in Baltimore, but we’re close.”

 

“And a boyfriend?”

 

“Huh, no. No boyfriend,” she says carefully. But she’s not willing to hide part of herself, even if it takes away what she wants the most. “I’m gay, actually.”

 

“Oh,” Costia says. “I’m bisexual myself. And well, I’d love for my son to grow up open minded. Too many profiles were couples wishing to raise my son on the straight and narrow with the Bible.” Costia smiles. “All I want is for him to be loved, and to love people. And not turn out republican.”

 

Lexa laughs.

 

Costia is nice, and their hour of conversation flies by faster than Lexa expected. For moments she forgets Costia is deciding if Lexa would be a fit mother to her baby. She’s a woman Lexa could see herself having a real friendship with.

 

Costia covers her swollen belly with a delicate hand.

 

“It’s not that I don’t love him, Lexa. I do. So much already.” Costia bites her lip, tears flooding her eyes. “But… I can’t.”

 

Impulsively, Lexa grabs her hand over the table. Costia smiles gratefully back at her.

 

“I just want my son to have a good shot at life,” Costia says.

 

“I promise you I will do everything in my power to make sure he gets that,” Lexa tells her, willing Costia to believe her. “You’ll be able to visit him,” Lexa promises. “I’ll send you pictures -he can know his brother and sister. I’ll give him everything.”

 

“I believe you.” Costia looks at Nissly, then back at Lexa. “I think you’ll be a good mom to him,” she says, smiling sadly.

 

Lexa squeezes Costia’s hand.

 

“Thank you, I just…thank you.”

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

Lexa watches the workers bring the crib inside her apartment. It’s solid maple wood, sleek and modern, and the men huff as they maneuver it through her spacious apartment.

 

Lincoln whistles when he sees it, and Lexa blushes. Maybe she went a bit overboard, but the admittedly huge crib can transform into a toddler bed, so it’ll be worth it in the long run.

 

“Anya was right, wasn’t she?” Lincoln asks, looking around the room at her other purchase. A dresser to go with the crib.

 

Lexa rolls her eyes -but is still glad he can’t see her online purchases.

 

She didn’t actually need his help assembling anything, but her brother still came, and he brought her nephew with him. Ty is asleep in her bed -Lincoln waved away her concerns that it wouldn’t be safe to leave him with only a few pillows around so he wouldn’t fall. ‘He’s 10 months old, Lexa. I’m pretty sure he can get down if he wants.’ Lexa’s bed is close to the ground, but she still worries.

 

“Karma finally caught up with Anya,” she comment. “She’ll be taking over the company for three months.”

 

“She told me it was two,” Lincoln says.

 

“She doesn’t know it yet, but it’ll be for three.”

 

Lincoln chuckles.

 

“What’s all that?” he asks, walking out of the nursery and into the living room. He sits down in front of her coffee table, eyeing the papers scattered around. “Work?”

 

You tip the workers and close the door after them before answering?

 

“No. I’m interviewing baby nurses.”

He raises his eyebrow at her.

 

“I’ve never changed a diaper, Lincoln.”

 

“I know, you always hand Ty back pretty quickly when he does a poo-poo.”

 

“…Did you just say ‘does a poo-poo’?” Lexa asks.

 

“Yes. Get used to it. You’ll be sounding like me in no time.”

 

“Doubtful,” she tells him, plopping down on the couch next to him.

 

“Look, I can help as much as you need,” Lincoln offers.

 

Lexa knows that, and she appreciates it…but she is terrified of being alone with the baby and not knowing what to do, scared to death of messing up. At least with a nurse she knows she’ll have 24/7 help until she can fend for herself. Or for as long as she wants, God knows she can afford it.

 

“I know,” Lexa says. “But you have your son to worry about, and the commute is ridiculous during the week…I don’t want to take you from your family.”

 

“You’re my family too,” Lincoln says simply, and Lexa smiles.

 

“I’m not too crazy about getting a stranger to help out… but I need it.”

 

“You could get Clarke,” Lincoln says.

 

“Who?”

 

“Octavia’s friend, Clarke,” Lincoln explains. ”You must have met before.” He snaps his fingers as he tries to remember. “At Octavia’s baby shower.”

 

“I left early, there was a case-”

 

“Oh, right,” Lincoln says. “I remember. And O’s birthday party last year?”

 

“…I sent a present, remember? I had that trip-”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa apologizes. “Who is he?”

 

“She,” Lincoln corrects her. “And she lives here, does work as a doula.”

 

Lexa frowns. “Like a mid-wife?”

 

“They’re not just for births, and Clarke -she’s great with babies. She taught us that way to calm Ty down when he had colic.”

 

“The swinging and shushing?” she wonders. She’d been thrown for a loop the first time she’d seen Octavia holding Ty on his stomach and shushing in his ear.

 

“It works.”

 

“Still doesn’t seem safe,” Lexa says.

 

“You should give her a call,” Lincoln suggests, ignoring her opinion. Lincoln’s told her time and time again she worries too much, that babies are more resilient than they look. “She’s not a stranger.”

 

“She’s a stranger to me,” she argues.

  
“But not to us,” Lincoln insists. “She’s a friend.”

 

“I’m not too keen to trust Octavia’s friends.”

 

“Lexa. She went to college with O, and then med school. She’s great. And that way you know you’re not hiring an ax murderer.” He looks at her like he always did growing up, when he knew he was about to get away with something. Lexa rolls her eyes. She does that a lot when her brother is around. “She helps new moms settle down, too. You should give her a call. Are you going to-”

  
“I’m going to give her a call, yes.”

 

Lincoln throws his arm over her shoulders.

 

“Atta girl.”

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

“ _This is Clarke Griffin, say your thing._ ”

 

Lexa waits for the tone to start speaking, and then realizes she doesn’t exactly know what to say.

 

“Hello, this is Lexa Woods. My brother -Lincoln Woods- gave me your number. He told me you work as a doula. I’ll be having…I’m going to need help caring for a newborn in the coming months and he thought I could use your services. Please call me back whenever it is convenient. Thank you.”

 

Leave it to Lexa to never learn how to leave messages without sounding like a fucking robot. Oh, well.

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

The apartment is chilly from the rain outside.

 

Lexa walks inside the quiet apartment, and winces when she toes off her shoes and her feet touch the cold hardwood floors. She unbuttons her dress shirt, letting it hang open as she serves herself a glass of wine to finish off the week.

 

She would sit down at the couch as usual and find something to watch, but her feet carry her down the hall.

 

She stops in front of the nursery. She’s taken to calling it ‘the baby’s room’ in her head. There’s such love building for him already, even if she doesn’t know his name or the way he will look.

 

The room is still quite empty, just the crib and a dresser, and a box of Ty’s hand-me-downs that no longer fit him. Lincoln knows she can afford new clothes but they hold more sentimental value than anything.

 

She’ll have a baby, a _son_ , in her arms. She’ll let him fall asleep in her chest and drool on her shoulder, and suddenly 3 months feel like an eternity. Lexa smiles to herself without noticing it. The apartment might be cold but she doesn’t feel it.

 

Lexa slips into bed that night and wraps an arm over her own waist like she’s used to. She falls asleep and dreams of the pitter-patter of tiny feet, and a small boy jumping on her huge bed to wake her up, screaming ‘mommy’ and begging for pancakes.

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

Clarke is half an hour late.

 

She called Lexa a day after she left her a message, and they agreed to meet at Lexa’s apartment for an interview. Lexa knowns nothing about the woman other that she’s OCtavia’s friend and her voice is low and gravelly over the phone -and the fact that she’s late to interviews.

 

She doesn’t know if it’s her usual, of course, but Lexa doesn’t like doing things out of schedule. If it was anyone else she would’ve called and asked them not to come -but this is Octavia’s friend. She can’t be rude. If she does the bare minimum to piss off Octavia then Lincoln will have it with her.

 

Lexa rolls her neck, tired from a long day at the office and not able to take off her suit.

 

Finally, the bell rings.

 

She feels as though a flood hits her when she opens the door.

 

“Hi! I’m sorry to keep you waiting, traffic was terrible.” The woman on the other side is blond, with bright blue eyes and red cheeks from the effort of -Lexa assumes she climbed up the stairs. “I have to say, when Lincoln talked about his ‘older sister’ I thought you’d be, well, older.”

 

Lexa blinks. She thought Clarke would be…different. She’s not sure how, but she didn’t expect to be met with an avalanche of...bright.

 

“I, huh…I’m a year older than him,” Lexa explains. “Excuse me, how old are you?”

 

“I’m 28,” Clarke says, not looking bothered by the question in the least.

 

“I’m older than you,” Lexa tells her, and she’s not sure why. She’s not used to feeling like this, blindsided.

 

“Is that a problem?” Clarke asks.

 

“I just thought...Since you’re supposed to help me with the baby, that you’d be...”

 

Clarke gives her a knowing smile.

 

“…You thought I’d be the grandmother type.”

 

She did, and Lexa isn’t sure why her brain -knowing that the woman was a friend of Octavia’s- painted her as some sort of knowledgeable wise-woman. She’s just a woman. A young, attractive woman, and it’s entirely to blame that Lexa hasn’t gotten laid in months that she notices this.

 

“Look, this is just a conversation,” Clarke says. “We can just talk, and if you’re not comfortable I have the contact of the woman who trained me as a doula. She doesn’t usually do post-partum work but you could give her a call. It’s important for you to be comfortable with who will help you take care of your baby.”

 

Lexa nods. Maybe Clarke is wise after all.

 

“Lexa,” she says, extending her hand.

 

“Clarke.” Her grip is firm, and her eyes don’t leave Lexa’s.

 

Lexa steps inside the apartment, keeping the door open.

 

“Please.”

 

Clarke comes inside.

 

She looks even younger than the 28 years she claims she is. She’s dressed casually, in jeans and a blouse, and suddenly Lexa feels overdressed in her pantsuit and jacket. Which is crazy, this is her apartment.

 

“You’re the only doula I found with a medical degree,” Lexa mentions, hoping to break the ice. She looked into them after Lincoln left, even called a few in her area to have something to compare Clarke with.

 

“I didn’t finish my residency, so that is a null point,” Clarke says, and gratefully sits down in Lexa’s couch when she offers.

 

“Can I get you anything? Water?”

 

“I’m good, thank you.” Clarke peers curiously up at her, and Lexa feels her hands start to sweat. She’s had a long day.

 

“Um…so why didn’t you?”

 

“Finish my residency?” Clarke asks. Lexa nods. “I realized being a doctor wasn’t the right fit for me,” she answers simply, shrugging. It looks like there’s more to it, but Lexa has never been one to pry. Then again, this woman could possibly be helping her take care of her baby, so she supposes she should know.

 

“Why?” she pushes.

 

“Different strokes for different folks, I suppose,” Clarke says, and then swiftly changes the topic. “So, Lexa…Lincoln told me you were looking to adopt a newborn.”

 

“Yes, hence…” Lexa signals toward Clarke, and then realizes how odd that must look so she clasps her hand tightly in her lap.

 

“Hey, relax,” Clarke says, voice soft. “I don’t bite.”

 

Warm climbs up Lexa’s cheeks.

 

“It’s okay, new moms are always a bit jumpy,” Clarke says.

 

“I’m not a mom…not yet.”

 

“I think the minute you choose to have a baby something inside you starts changing,” Clarke says gently. Her eyes are clear blue and honest, and Lexa finds herself mesmerized by the words and the woman they’re coming from. She wants to believe her. “You’re waiting for your baby to get here, just like any other pregnant woman I’ve met. Makes you a new mom.” Clarke smiles, and it’s sweet -it makes Lexa realize why she’d be good with children. “And I’d really like to be there for you and your baby, Lexa.”

 

Lexa compares her with the efficient, serious baby nurses she interviewed. They were methodical and almost businesslike, and part of Lexa was attracted to that. She knows order. She likes it when things are methodical, systematical. Clarke…she has something they don’t. Lexa can’t quite explain it, and she doesn’t always follow her gut, but it doesn’t take her long to decide. Her entire life is ordered to perfection, yes. But she doesn’t want this new chapter in her life -her son- to be like the rest of it.

 

“I think I’d like that too.”


	2. Chapter 2

  
Clarke trudges back into her apartment, trying not to drag her feet behind her.

Her butt hurts from the lumpy seat of her scooter motorcycle -she knows it’s time to change the damn thing, it’s so worn- and her back aches from the weight of her backpack, hosting tonight’s dinner. Raven canceled their weekly get together in favor of staying until late at her car shop, so Clarke has foregone cooking in favor of a good frozen meal.

She sets up her laptop before starting to unwrap her lasagna. She isn’t done microwaving it when Octavia appears on the screen.

“How did it go with Lexa?” Octavia asks in no time, not even bothering with introductions. Living in different cities hasn’t affected their friendship in the least, the only difference being the clubbing and movie nights of before have been exchanged with facetiming and the commute in the train. It’s been almost a year since Ty was born, and it’s still hard to believe her friend is a mom.

Clarke knows that O isn’t too close with Ty’s aunt, too, so it was surprising to get the offer to work for Lexa. Even more surprising was Lexa herself.

Going from the few things she heard, Clarke imagined a robotic workaholic, but Lexa was nothing of the sort. The woman was kind of hardcore alright, but Clarke saw a hint of insecurity in her eyes when she spoke about wanting to become a mom. There was something sweet about her then, something Octavia never mentioned, maybe because she’s never witnessed it herself. Then, she was just a woman, and being hopeful looked good on her.

Completely apart from the fact that -brown waves and green eyes- she was a complete stunner, which Octavia neglected to mention.

“Clarke?”

“Oh, yeah. It went great! She was great,” she tells Octavia.

“Really?”

“Yes. I mean, she’s a little uptight, but she was really nice.” It’s the truth. She was surprised when Lexa agreed to working with her so fast, but quickly discovered it didn't mean Lexa was done interrogating her. She was asked about everything under the sun concerning childcare, and Lexa never did fully relax, but Clarke knew it came from a good place, so she didn’t mind.

Octavia nods, accepting the words.

“I think a baby will mellow her out,” Octavia says. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s good with Ty, and Lincoln loves her, but Lexa isn’t…she’s not very approachable, I guess.”

“I approached her just fine,” Clarke tells Octavia.

She doesn’t think that Lexa is bad with people, she thinks maybe the woman is simply unfamiliar with not being in command. She treated their interview…well, like an interview, a serious job interview, and that is something Clarke is not used to. Often times working as a doula feels more like teamwork than her actually working for someone. She won’t get ahead of herself and say the same thing will happen with Lexa, but there’s nothing stopping her.

Clarke has yet to meet a new mom she doesn’t become friends with.

“I’m not trying to be mean,” O promises. “It’s just…it took ages for her to get used to me at family dinners. And when I got pregnant she didn’t really a choice so…” Octavia shrugs.

“Speaking off…” Clarke interjects. “How’s my favorite nephew?”

Octavia smiles, that same smile all moms get and that makes Clarke glad of what she does for a living. She can’t wait to see it in her newest mom.

“He’s asleep, thank God.”

 

//

 

_I look forward to our next visit, and I’d love to answer any questions you might have._

_It will be a pleasure to work with you during the upcoming months, Lexa._

She finishes typing the e-mail and debates on what to write before her name. ‘Sincerely’ sounds ridiculous, but ‘regards’ is way too formal. Then again, she doesn’t know how formal she should be. With her last mom, they were already texting over WhatsApp at this point. Lexa only volunteered her e-mail and home number for them to communicate, and Clarke has never liked leaving messages on people’s voice mails, so this was it. She can’t remember the last time she paid so much attention to her grammar.

She decides to go with her gut.

_Best wishes._

_Clarke Griffin_  
_Birth and Postpartum Doula_  
_CD(DONA)_

Once the email is sent, loaded with as many attachment as possible, she allows herself to lay back down and relax.

She’s free tomorrow, so she’ll probably dedicate it to drawing. There's one commission dead line coming up she can get a head start on. She could visit Octavia in the afternoon, maybe ask Raven if she wants to tag along. She could even figure out how to answer her mother’s emails, that have gone unread for long enough that they've entered ‘I’m purposely ignoring you’ territory.

She looks around her apartment, the matchbox size of it that seemed cozy when she first moved all those years ago, but now is a little asphyxiating. At age 21, a studio apartment for herself felt like freedom, no roommates and no judgments about whoever she brought home, no fake IDs or her mother breathing down her neck.

At age 28, it feels like she’s...drifting. Not that she truly minds. It's just her friends have jobs and lives and she’s still figuring out what she wants to do with hers. Floating along, being carried by life from one place to another, never sticking around. She loves working as a doula but it’s ever-changing, new people, new moms, babies that often times she’ll never see again and families that she helps get on their feet while afterward she goes home alone. She loves it, but it can be bittersweet.

She loves medicine but she can't think of trying it again. She draws one or two commissions a month and manages to sell a few paintings, but doesn’t have enough time to dedicate to it.

She feels adrift. A little lonely, maybe, though she’d never admit it if she wasn’t exhausted after a long day and her friend hadn’t canceled dinner.

Clarke likes her life, she’s happy with it, but it’s missing…something more. Something else. Lincoln would say she wants a higher purpose, while Raven and O would call it getting laid, but it’s not that. She doesn’t know what to name the feeling in her chest. Perhaps it's permanence she craves, though she knows enough about life to know that stability isn't promised, that at any time the floor can be swept from under your feet.

Clarke lets herself fall back on her pillows.

This is exactly why she doesn’t enjoy too much free time.

 

//

 

The constant ringing of a telephone reaches her through the layers of sleep.

Half of her hair is tangled, and she can see herself on her vanity mirror, red creases painted across her cheek. She yawns, stretching her arms over her head and silently apologizing to her chest for not removing the underwire bra she's been wearing all day before clocking out. She takes a quick look to the watch on her wrist.

It’s 8:00pm. She fell asleep.

She scrambles to grab her cell-phone when it rings again, reminding her of what woke her up in the first place. She answers before the call is cut, not even checking the ID.

“Uhm, yes? Hello?”

“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”

“Lexa! Hey, no it’s fine, I was just- It’s fine.” She runs her hand down her face, forcing herself not to sound like she was sleeping -or drunk. “Please, did you need anything?”

“I actually had an inq- a question,” Lexa says, and Clarke can definitely hear the businesswoman come out. “Could I receive some training before the baby arrives? I’d like to stay on top of things.”

“Of course. Training as in…”

“Diapers. Changing diapers, and clothes. Swaddling? Just…the basics, I suppose.” Clarke hears the click of a keyboard over the phone, and sits up, most of the sleep fog gone. “I read the information you sent me, and there’s so much I’m not familiar with. And…well, it also took Lincoln ages to let me carry my nephew standing up.”

Clarke laughs. She’s actually impressed that Lexa managed to read everything in just a few hours.

“Okay. Well, I have a doll I can bring, and we can totally practice all of that." She's never been asked to teach how to change a diaper and clothes, and swaddling is picked up by parents fast enough, but she won't deny Lexa of her peace of mind. And she won't deny herself of the pay, either. "I can answer any other questions you might have too, face-to-face,” she tells her. She grabs her tablet from her bedside table, entering her monthly schedule. “How does Wednesday afternoon work for you?” she asks Lexa. She has one last visit scheduled with Sasha and her baby girl, and she can go to Lexa after that.

“That works,” Lexa answers.

Clarke tries not to smile, and fails. She’ll make a talker out of Lexa yet.

“Okay, Lexa. See you then.”

 

//

 

She climbs up the stairs to Lexa’s apartment Wednesday afternoon, right on schedule this time around.

Her scooter is parked downstairs, and she takes the stairs solely to clear her head and heart. That familiar feeling in her chest is back from seeing Sasha and baby Rue for the last time. She assisted during the birth, and helped out afterward a few times a week for the first two months…it's a little bittersweet, when her services are no longer needed. 

She gives up around the fourth floor, her thighs aching with the strain and the consequences of that zumba class Octavia dragged her to a week ago.

It only takes the elevator a few moments to deliver her to Lexa’s floor.

The woman opens the door a minute after she knocks, and Clarke’s sight is inundated with a barrage of brown.

“What’s all this?” she asks, walking inside the apartment and through all the delivery boxes stacked around. She counts at least six. Seven. “Are you moving?”

“No,” Lexa says, as though its obvious. “It’s just everything I need." 

Clarke walks around the space, that currently looks like a courier service.

"Well, not everything, of course," Lexa amends. "I’m sure there are some things missing, but this is what I could think off-”

“Did you buy two dozen newborn onesies?” Clarke doesn’t _mean_ to intrude, but the list of Lexa's purchases is like, right there.

“Is that too little?”

“If you plan on burning them instead of washing them,” Clarke answers, forgetting Lexa hasn’t known her as long as Lincoln has. 

“What?”

She shakes her head, not wanting to sound rude. Besides, Lexa is making her heart ache in the sweetest way.

“What’s that one?” Clarke asks softly, pointing towards the kitchen, where a different, smaller box lays on top of the breakfast island.

“Ready to use liquid newborn formula for the first few days while I get the hang of everything, and powdered baby formula for later on,” Lexa recites. “It’s the same brand, they said it shouldn’t upset the baby’s stomach.”

“That’s…actually kind of genius,” she accepts. She turns to Lexa. It doesn’t feel good, because Lexa looks so hopeful, so… _eager_ , to do well. But this is all kind of insane. “Look, I think it’s great that you want to be so prepared, but don’t you think…” She bites her lip. “Lexa, this is…a little excessive.”

“You think so?” She asks, and she sounds so unsure Clarke wants to take it back. But she can’t.

“Well, maybe not the bulk of baby wipes, God knows you’ll go through those eventually, but babies grow so fast…he won’t use all those newborn onesies before he’s needing the bigger ones,” she explains. “And then he won’t get through those before…you know.”

Lexa’s mood deflates, Clarke watches it happen, and she feels horrible if it wasn’t for the fact all those supplies could be better used elsewhere. She’s not sure of Lexa’s income bracket (though her apartment and how much she’s paying her are good indicatives) but no one needs so much stuff for a single child.

“As your doula,” she says, “I think you should return some of this stuff.”

“Are you pulling rank on me?” Lexa asks, and Clarke thinks maybe she does know how to joke around after all. “Because as the future m-mom, I think I trump that.”

“As your doula,” Clarke repeats, smiling at Lexa’s use of ‘mom’. She’ll get there. “This is exactly the type of situation I’m here for.”

“I thought you were going to help with the baby.”

Clarke doesn’t want to overstep, but a)she has always been the mom friend by excellence, and b)she doesn’t know how not to butt in.

“Did you know doula means ‘woman who serves’? Our job description is to literally mother the mother." She steps closer, grabbing Lexa's forearms. "I’m here for you too, not just for the baby. And I’m telling you neither you nor the baby need…” Clarke looks around the space, her eyes zoning into the box closest to her. “Three dozen booties. Lexa, you won’t use all of these unless you’re adopting triplets all of a sudden.”

“Say I return these,” Lexa says, taking a step back and laying her hand over the box of newborn onesies. “I can’t exactly open it and keep just the ones I’ll need.”

c)Clarke doesn’t know how to treat people -even strangers, especially strangers she’s working for or with- at arm’s length. She’s seen most of her moms naked and in pain, certain barriers just don’t exist after that.

She just hopes she doesn’t overwhelm Lexa with the standard Clarke treatment.

“That’s where I come in too. How do you feel about a trip to the mall one of these days?” she offers, just waiting for Lexa -serious, professional Lexa according to Octavia- to say she actually wanted a baby nurse and not a quasi-friend who judges her purchases.

“I’m free this weekend,” Lexa says instead.

 

//

 

“Is it okay to grab their ankles together like that?” Lexa asks, and Clarke lays the plastic doll down yet again. “I’m just pointing out, it seems wrong.”

Clarke starts to wonder where does the line lay between asking questions and actually questioning everything. She loves questions, encourages them, even. But she’s taking Lexa through the motions of folding a cloth diaper. Granted, it's something Lexa claims she’s never done before. Clarke wouldn’t know it, with how sure and delicate Lexa is while working on her own doll, except for the amount of questions she’s been bombarded with. It’s a good thing Clarke knew about rashes and possible allergies.

“It doesn’t hurt, I promise.”

Lexa’s long, elegant fingers fold the diaper, lift the doll by its legs and place it back down, and then close the piece of cloth. It looks a little odd, considering Lexa is still in what Clarke assumes are her work clothes. Her long brown hair sits gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck, and she wears a button down shirt and pants. She bites her lip in the most serious show of concentration Clarke has seen.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Clarke tells her. Lexa smiles, looking embarrassed. “Here, have a snappy.”

She hands Lexa the plastic fastener, and she secures it like a pro.

“And that’s it. You just want to put a waterproof cover on it to be sure, but that’s it. And with disposable diapers it’s even easier.”

“I tried to do one of those after Ty was born.” Lexa looks up at Clarke briefly, and then back down at her handiwork. “He peed on me,” she says quietly.

Clarke doesn’t mean to laugh as hard as she does.

“Boys will do that." She found that the hard way when she was being trained, never having spent too much time as a babysitter in high-school. "You want to be sure he’s done peeing before removing the diaper," she tells Lexa. Lexa nods, her cheeks slightly pink, and Clarke…she just really likes her job right then. “On with a swaddle then?”

 

//

 

It doesn’t go as well.

“I feel stupid,” Lexa says, like it’s a struggle to share the feeling. Clarke doesn’t think Lexa has ever admitted to being anything less than wholly prepared a day in her life.

“Don’t. It’ll be easier,” Clarke reassures her. “Haven’t you ever changed Ty?” It's easy to forget they actually share family, that she's Lincoln's sister, Ty's actual aunt by law -not that it matters to her and Octavia. 

“…No.”

“Not even a jacket?” she asks Lexa.

The brunette shakes her head.

“Okay. No shame in that,” Clarke says, though it's...okay, it's a little shameful. 

“I mean. His arms and legs were so small. How do I put him in clothes without wrenching those out of their sockets?”

Clarke winces at the mental image, though she knows it’s a common fear. Newborns are delicate, yes, but never as delicate as new parents think.

"I just didn't want to do it wrong, so I never did it, I guess," Lexa tells her, and Clarke is surprised by the honesty -by the vulnerability that honesty lets shine through. She knows it wouldn't be well received, but she could just give Lexa a hug. Octavia would say she's insane, but she's not seeing this woman strive to being perfect and careful in one of the jobs where messing up is par for the course.

“You put shirts on on from the back first, and then the front,” Clarke answers the unasked question. ”Babies don't like it when clothes rub their faces either.” She softly touches Lexa’s wrist, and the woman jumps a little. “You’ll get it,” Clarke tells her.

Lexa looks up at her, green eyes so close, and Clarke realizes she’s a little too near her in the couch. She straightens up, and looks for a new topic of conversation.

“So…Will you be breastfeeding as well?”

“I -what?” Lexa sputters, her cheeks going pink. Clarke knows that not everyone is as comfortable with everything involving motherhood, buts she didn’t think it would make Lexa blink.

“I’m adopting,” Lexa says, dumbfounded.

“Yes, of course, I know,” Clarke tells her, then wonders if her adoption agency just hasn’t been as supportive as they could have. “But you can still breastfeed your baby. That’s an option.”

“I…didn’t know that.”

So it’s that.

“I mean, breast milk is the best source of nutrients for a baby, but it’s also a great way to connect with your child.” It’s a tried and true speech, but it’s never disingenuous. Clarke thinks it’s beautiful, and she wants children herself, one distant day. For now, she just helps out new moms where she can. “Women induce lactation for a number of reasons,” she tells Lexa. “Adoption, some mothers in same sex relationships if they weren’t the birthing partner...”

Lexa widens her eyes at that, and Clarke would wonder if she was one of those fundamentalists she worked with every once in a while, if she didn’t already know via Octavia that Lexa was gay. Clarke thinks maybe it’s not fair that Octavia has volunteered so much information about Lexa already, when Lexa hardly knows Clarke.

It’s different now, remembering those days back when Octavia and Lincoln were just getting serious, and Octavia used to complain about Lincoln’s sisters. Now Clarke’s met them both, perhaps it was all an exaggeration from her friend. Lexa is…nice.

“How,” she asks, and Clarke feels that familiar flare of wonder for the human body that led her to med school in the first place.

“Medication,” she answers, and then raises her hands to her chest. “And you’d have to manually stimulate your breasts so-”

“I- I don’t think-” Lexa looks firmly down at her doll, seemingly flustered. Clarke resolves to stop throwing information at the poor woman.

“Oh, that’s all right. It’s just another option you have. I can send you some pamphlets if you want.”

“Sure.” Lexa nods, and then bites her lip. “Does the baby…is that necessary? For them to get attached, I mean?”

Swimming in Lexa’s bright eyes, Clarke thinks she notices a sliver of insecurity.

“No, not at all,” she says. “Otherwise where would dad’s be, right? There are so many ways to bond with your baby.” She reaches into her carrier bag for her laptop. “Have you heard about the benefits of skin to skin contact?”

Lexa gobbles up the information.

It’s the word that comes to mind, even if the word itself seems too large and rough for such a graceful woman. She devours Clarke’s words, and asks questions, and looks excited in a way Clarke -who works with expecting parents all the time- doesn’t see as often as one might think. She’s seen that look in couples who tried to get pregnant for ages, for people who’s happiness was always just out of hand.

She’s happy for Lexa, because Clarke has seldom seen a mother who was so beautifully eager to be one.

“I recommend these carriers,” she says, pointing at the screen. A lovely -though improbably thin woman- cradles a newborn against her chest, wrapped in a sling.

“My brother walks around with those,” Lexa says. “I always thought it looked ridiculous. And what if the baby falls out? That doesn’t seem safe.”

Clarke contains a smile. She clearly has her work cut out for her.

“It’s perfectly safe,” she says. “It can be scary at first but you slowly get used to it.” She leans forward to go through her bag, hoping she actually brought one with her. Cold fingers touch the back of her arm and she jumps.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says. “It’s just, you have... There’s a smudge of brown on the back of your arm.”

Clarke’s eyes pop open. _Please don't let it be shit. Please don't let it be shit._

“Oh.” She twists her arm, looking for the offending stain. “I promise I'm usually more professional than this -and I’m aware of how unprofessional that sounds.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry for startling you.” Lexa brings her hands up to her mouth, blowing on them. “My siblings used to tease me because I always ran cold.” Lexa pouts slightly, and Clarke can’t look away. It’s surprising, to say the least. “Anya -my sister- she used to call me Lizard Lexa.”

Clarke chuckles.

“You’re fine.” She _is_ a little cold, but Clarke doesn’t think it would be polite to point that out. She finally catches the stain, and breathes easy when it comes off with her nails.

“It’s paint,” she tells Lexa. ”Acrylic paint.”

“You paint?”

“Yes. It was my second option apart from med school. It’s mostly a hobby these days but I do sell a few paintings every month.”

“Oh.” Lexa looks at her, and for a second Clarke feels so studied she thinks she just shed away the veneer of professionalism Lexa expected. But Lexa surprises her. “Would you paint for me? I mean, I’d pay you. The baby’s nursery…I think it would be nice to have a mural for him.”

Clarke smiles.

“I like that idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

   
Lexa picks up once Clarke is gone.

The stray ‘snappis’ and diapers and the doll Clarke left her to practice with are just laying around her living room, and the mess could honestly give her an aneurysm. She's not used to mess, and Anya's words come back to haunt her when she finds herself picking up stuff from her apartment floor months before her baby boy is even home. (She's been thinking of names, has been wondering how to broach the subject with Costia in their emails.) She's not used to clutter but thinks she might have to be.

Clarke herself is…a handful, but Lexa doesn’t regret her decision. If anything, their first visit reassures her that she made the right choice. She’ll tell Lincoln the only reason she accepted was for him, and that his friend better deliver, but there’s something about Clarke that she likes, and she somehow knows the baby will like as well.

She’s known her for so very little time, but Lexa feels just a little surer of herself when Clarke’s around. Maybe the benefits of a doula, that Lexa had been signing off as new age and hippie, are actually true. She doesn’t feel as overwhelmed knowing that she can call Clarke and ask her what she doesn’t understand, and that once the baby gets here she’ll help Lexa with him.

Plus she explained everything to Lexa with patience and care, and Lexa’s aware she isn’t the best student.

Clarke is…tactile, Lexa has noticed that much, and she hopes she’ll learn to emulate that quality. Lexa wasn’t cold by any means growing up, but she always kept some distance. She can’t now, not when her baby will depend on her and her only, and though she wants nothing more than to cuddle and hug and kiss, while those are alive and well inside her chest, she doesn’t know yet how good she’ll be at it in practice.

She hopes she’ll be able to comfort without a second thought, that her hands will reassure and her voice will calm. She hopes Clarke will teach her to be warm.

Most of all, Lexa just hopes she’ll be a good mom.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke closes the door after herself, dropping her carrier bag on the couch. She winces when it bounces onto the carpet, thankful there's no one around to witness it. She really ought to take better care of ther stuff. She puts her cell phone on speaker and opens her voice mail, already dreading what she knows will be there.

 _“Clarke, please call me back. We’re having the dinner for your father next month, and I want to make sure you’ll be able to attend. You missed it last year._ ”                  There’s silence on the line afterward, and Clarke hopes that will be it. _“I…I missed you. Please, call me.”_

It’s somehow worse.

A light headache begins to beat between her eyes, and she rubs at the spot with two fingers. It bothers her, the fact that a single call from her mother can stress her to the point of physical pain, but she doesn’t know what she can do about it. So she opens herself a beer, sits down on the couch and grabs her laptop. She’s always been good at problem solving, and the only solution she has at the moment is willfull ignorance.

  
//

  
_These are the links with the information I think you should take a look at. Oh, and this one could come in handy as well. If you have any questions, please call           me._

_Clarke Griffin_

  
She finishes sending the message to Lexa only to delve into the vast world of Pinterest. She’s not used to doing baby murals, her commission always centered around the city landscape or abstract female figures, but this could be good. A breath of fresh air.

She doesn’t know about calling back her mom, but this? This is something she can do.

From Lexa’s orderly apartment and the black details that stood out among the sleek white, Clarke can tell she’s a simplistic, elegant woman. (Never let it be said that that ‘art appreciation’ optatives she took in college, and that did nothing for her major, was in vain.) Lexa won’t want a full wall painted like a children’s TV set. It would look overwhelming, clash with the rest of her place -though with how excited about her son Lexa seemed Clarke doesn’t think she’d mind.

She’s neck deep in forests and cartoon animals when her phone rings, and it takes her a minute to unstick her eyes from the screen to answer it.

“Yes?”

“Clarke, hello.”

“Hi, Lexa!” She doesn’t mean to sound excited, but speak -or think- of the devil.

“Excuse me, Clarke, but…what is this last link you sent me?”

Clarke bites off a laugh, settling back down with her laptop.

“It’s baby poop.”

“Why would you send me that link?”

Clarke wonders if she went a step too far. While she and Lexa were a lot better with each other this afternoon, she’s still one of her most serious moms. But she doesn’t sound mad. Just…baffled, and grossed out, which is exactly what Clarke was going for.

“You said you’d never changed a diaper, I need you to build up a tolerance.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Clarke can’t help her chuckle now.

“It’s different when your kid is the poo poo machine, but it’s still gross. I can’t have you fainting the first time he poops,” she says. She mostly wanted to tease Lexa, to see if she could bring out a lighter side to the woman and finish breaking the ice between them, but Clarke has actually seen three fathers who felt light handed after changing the first diaper, and one mom. It might as well be on the job description to prepare them.

“Why does everyone say ‘poo poo’?” Lexa asks, and Clarke snorts. “And I have a strong stomach,” Lexa claims, sounding affronted.

“We’ll see about that, mommy,” Clarke says, and she thinks that melodious, honey thick sound coming in through the line might actually be Lexa’s chuckle. “How do you feel about giraffes?” Clarke asks her. “I’ve been looking at some stuff for the mural.”

“I trust your judgment,” Lexa says, and it’s an answer Clarke should have expected. Short and to the point. Clarke can’t wait to see Lexa with her son, she’ll be babbling nonsense in no time.

“I’d hope so, you’re paying me for it,” she tells Lexa. “Do you have any preference in colors? Since you’re adopting a boy-”

“I’m a strong believer in raising boys and girls the same so…any color is fine.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Clarke teases, and she’ll blame the beer when it comes out sounding lower than she intended. She’ll never hear the end of it if Octavia thinks she was flirting with her sister in law.

“Okay. I have to go, Clarke,” Lexa says. “I’ll see you on Saturday?”

“Absolutely. Goodbye, Lexa.”

 

 //

 

“She’s nice, I honestly don’t know what Octavia goes on about.”

Clarke refills the three glasses of wine on the table, one in front of each of her friend’s half-full plates. Raven’s boyfriend from downstairs is banned from the apartment at the moment, and Lincoln has Ty, giving them a rare night to hang out. Back in college, these happened every day, but with jobs and families and actual bills they’re lucky if all three can get together twice a month.

Often, it’s great for catching up. Tonight, it’s all about Clarke’s job -and not in the best way.

“I’ve been with Lincoln for how long, now?” Octavia asks. “And Lexa and I are barely friends. We’re like, acquaintances. ‘Hey, I popped out your nephew. How’s work?’”

“O does have a point,” Raven says.

“In fact,” Octavia continues. “You’re one of my best friends, and you’d never met her before!”

“Also true.”

“Raven,” Clarke says.

“I’m playing referee,” she says, cutting into her steak. A smudge of grease is visible on her forehead, and Clarke licks her thumb to wipe it away.

“Clarke, the fuck.” Raven jumps away, looking at Clarke’s hand like it’s a live snake.

“Stay still,” Clarke insists, while Octavia just grabs her cell phone, grinning and angling it toward them.

“I’m not one of your babies,” Raven grumbles, and rubs her own forehead. “Do you project like this with Lexa too?”

“Get off my ass about Lexa! I just said she’s nice,” Clarke says, sitting back on her chair. “She’s cute.”

“Cute?” Octavia asks, raising her eyebrows.

“I mean, not cute as in- she’s kind of adorable. You should have heard the amount of questions she was asking me.”

“Doesn’t sound like her,” Octavia says, looking at Clarke. She smiles uncomfortably under the attention. “…oh my God, you actually like her,” Octavia mutters. “Well, does she like you? Is she all nice and warm with you like she’s with Linc? Because I’m going to think I’m the problem.”

“You could never be a problem, Octavia,” Raven says.

“Cute, but I’m not getting up again,” Octavia tells her. Raven rolls her eyes and gets up, trudging to the kitchen.

“I wouldn’t say she’s nice and warm,” Clarke tells her. “But I think the whole cold bad-ass persona is just…a persona. She’s like every other mom I’ve met.”

Octavia shrugs, taking a drink off her wine. She makes grabby hands at Raven, silently asking her to share the dessert she brings to the table.

“Speaking of moms…” Raven says.

“I’m not doing this tonight,” Clarke tells them. She knows they mean well, but she doesn’t meddle on their personal lives unless they ask, or unless it is absolutely necessary.

“Clarke,” Raven starts, and Clarke raises her hand to stop her. Her refusal to call her mother is pure self-preservation, she just doesn’t have it in her these days to face questions she can’t answer, nor the disappointment behind it all.

“You know I’m a therapist,” Octavia says.

“You’re studying to become a therapist,” Clarke corrects her. “A _physical_ therapist at that.” Being a physical trainer hadn’t been enough for Octavia, and she’d started studying again even while she was pregnant with Ty. She’s shaping up to be quite good, too, and Clarke’s proud, but apart from the fact that physiology can’t help her -the only therapeutic thing Clarke’s accepting tonight is a piece of cheese cake.

“Fair enough,” Octavia accepts.

Raven laughs, and the night goes on.

 

//

 

“Come in!”

The door is half open, and Clarke heeds Lexa’s instruction and lets herself in. Lexa’s apartment is as uncluttered as it was the first time, even the sole two boxes she recommended Lexa to keep are out of sight. Clarke looks around, wondering where the nursery might be.

The plastic doll Clarke left her the last time she was here lays abandoned on the couch, incredibly out of place among the sleek leather and plush carpet. From where Clarke stands, its swaddle is perfectly done.

Lexa has been practicing.

Clarke imagines Lexa after work, wearing her pantsuit and a serious expression, practicing how to change a diaper and swaddle a doll. The mental image squeezes her heart.

“I’m ready to go.”

She turns toward Lexa’s voice, and stops in her track when she gets a look at the woman.

Lexa is wearing tight black jeans, and matching black ankle boots that give her height a boost, just so that Clarke has to look up to meet intense green eyes. Her long brown hair cascades over her shoulders in waves and haphazard curls. She looks so young, and it takes Clarke by surprise. Lexa looks downright gorgeous, and it’s entirely to blame that Clarke has spent too long between poopy diapers and tired parents that she notices. Also the fact she isn't blind.

"Clarke? Are you driving?"

"Oh. No, I thought you might...? Unless you want to hop in behind me on my motorcycle." The mental image is enough for Clarke to blush, and it’s probably all sorts of unprofessional. She needs to get a grip on herself. But it's odd, witnessing a completely different woman than she saw a few days ago appear. 

"You drive a motorcycle?" Lexa asks.

"Yeah, for a few years now. It's faster than a car," she tells Lexa, who looks surprised; her brow furrows a little. "What? You don't think it's safe?" 

Lexa looks sheepish as she shakes her head.

 

"No offense, Clarke, but I think I'll drive," Lexa says, pulling out her car keys from her purse. "I'll take a rain check on that motorcycle drive," Lexa tells her, teasing, and Clarke is surprised, to say the least.

“Great,” she tells Lexa. 

But it isn't. She's kind of staring a little.

It does get Clarke thinking that there's yet another side of Lexa, though, one that she could draw out. After all, there has yet to be a mom she doesn't become good friends with. She's not about to let Lexa become the first.

 

 

* * *

 

Clarke is a whirlwind at the mall.

Lexa can do nothing but stare, feeling like she did when she was younger and her parents took them all to the beach. She wasn't as tall as Lincoln nor as strong as Anya, but she was always safe with them, so she never minded too much about getting carried by the waves.

Clarke is a tide all of her own.

Lexa struggles to keep up after her, baby store after baby store, and it’s not that she’s tired as much as it makes it feel real. Not sending Costia emails asking about her pregnancy, nor an online shopping rampage, have made her feel as much of an expectant mother as a store clerk asking her what she thinks of a onesie.

Her family supports her completely, and after she spoke to Bellamy the news spread at work -she’d received a few congratulations- but no one apart from her inner circle has recognized her as a future mom.

Clarke is next to her the whole time, pointing out differences between styles, and pros and cons, and Lexa gets the urge to call Lincoln and thank him for the idea, because she couldn’t have done this alone.

Clarke feels like a friend Lexa can trust, and Lexa knows that’s her entire purpose, that she’s paying her a not insignificant sum to count on her and her expertise, but it’s more than she expected, and Lexa… actually likes it.

She wasn’t sure at first, and sometimes when Clarke suggests things like co-sleeping she isn’t still, but she thinks maybe she just wasn’t prepared for a doula. Or more specifically, for Clarke, who grabs Lexa’s forearms to get her attention, and grabs her own breasts to illustrate pumping -Lexa’s cheeks pink all over again- and sends her pictures of baby shit because she wants to ‘prepare her’. Who drives a motorcycle and agrees to paint her baby a mural on her free time.

She’s completely unexpected and Lexa still thinks it’s exactly what she needs.

“Lexa, look!”

She looks to the rack of onesies Clarke is pointing to, and her eyes pop open.

“Last night was a blur,” Clarke reads out loud the message printed on one of the baby clothes. “I remember sucking titties and shitting myself.”

Hearing those words comes out of Clarke’s mouth makes a hot flash run down Lexa’s body. 

“That’s…wildly inappropriate,” Lexa tells her.

Clarke bumps her shoulder.

“Haven’t we all had one of those nights, though.”

Lexa gulps.

Clarke laughs, and Lexa’s back to just not being _sure_.

 

//

 

  
Once Clarke deems Lexa ready for the first few months of her son’s life, Lexa -who has always boasted about having great stamina- is about ready to drop dead.

It’s not her legs that are tired, but her mind. She thought she was up to speed with everything she needed to know to be a sensible caretaker, but with every new product Clarke pushed into her hands and explained, Lexa isn’t so sure. She begins to think about how she wouldn’t have had this with a baby nurse, and is once more thankful for Lincoln recommending Clarke.

“One more stop,” Clarke promises, and Lexa feels embarrassed that she didn’t hide her exhaustion as well as she could have. Both their arms are laden with bags, and she’s not sure what else Clarke could be after.

When she enters a paint store, Lexa realizes it.

Clarke goes straight for the pastels, and Lexa follows after her. Clarke studies intently the different paint swatches, and Lexa realizes the last time she picked paint was when she was in college, and moved into her first apartment. She hires a painting service now, avoiding the hassle, and she has a preference for white.

Clarke goes for a can of bright yellow, and Lexa raises her eyebrows -but trusts her.

“Have you thought about names?” Clarke asks her out of the sudden. “Are you naming him?”

Lexa has been thinking about names for weeks now, but hasn’t voiced her ideas out loud to anyone, not even Costia, not yet. It feels like a monumental responsibility, the most important thing she could choose for someone else in her life.

She nods to Clarke, biting her lip.

“I like ‘Aden’,” she tells Clarke softly. “It means little fire in Gaelic.”

Clarke makes a noise from the back of her throat. “That’s so cute.”

Lexa looks away, embarrassed, unaccustomed to the easy banter and sharing. She hasn’t even told Anya, and she hasn’t known Clarke for very long. It dawns on Lexa that Clarke is exceptionally good at what she does.

Clarke ends up buying yellow, black, pastel green and sky blue paints. It looks like a wild mix to Lexa, but she’s not the artist here, so she says nothing. At the last moment, Clarke picks up stencils for the letters A, D, E and N. Lexa takes out her wallet again, intent on handing her card back to the cashier, but Clarke stops her with a hand on her wrist.

“No, these ones are on me.”

 

//

 

They get to her apartment at mid-afternoon, and Clarke tells her that she has some free time so she could get started on the mural right away. Lexa just nods, dumbly; she doesn’t really remember the last time she spent a whole day with someone not from her immediate family, but it’s nice.

She shows Clarke the baby’s room. Clarke walks around the space, the big wooden crib housing the few boxes she kept from her online shopping. A shipment of baby wipes, the one with the fleece blankets, and the formula. It’s dumb, but Lexa feels as though she’s waiting for Clarke’s approval. She felt the same sitting in Nissly’s office, and after her home study. She wonders if the feeling will still be there once she brings Aden home. If she’ll always need the validation that she did right.

“This is lovely, Lexa,” Clarke tells her. “And so big. He’ll have a lot of space to crawl around.”

Lexa nods, smiling.

“Did you have a place in mind for the mural?” Clarke asks. “I think above-”

“Above the crib, yes,” Lexa agrees. “I think it would look good there. And he could see it, when he’s a bit older.”

Clarke nods, lays down the bag of paints on a corner of the room. She enlists Lexa’s help in moving the crib, and after a few minutes of pushing and pulling -it really is massive- Clarke is ready to start.

“Thank you for this,” Lexa tells her, once Clarke has pulled out her pencil. “I’m…it’s not really my thing.” The monochromatic look of her apartment isn’t just because she values simplicity. She was just never very creative, preferring to read as a child rather than paint or draw.

Clarke smiles, looking at her in a way that’s almost…sweet.

“Don’t worry Lexa, it’s my pleasure.”

 

//

 

Once night falls, the mural in the baby’s room is nearly finished with splashes of color.

A child wearing a bright yellow rain coat plays in a puddle, various animals around him and a rain cloud right above. Lexa enters the room quietly, and she’s not sure Clarke notices her at first, her tongue poking out in concentration as she fills in the words “Sleep well, little one” in black paint.

“Would you like a drink?” Lexa asks, signaling the glass of wine in her hand. “Or would that be inappropriate?”

Clarke smiles.

“Well, I’m currently here as an artist, not as a doula, so I think it’ll be fine.”

Clarke puts down the brush, and there’s yellow paint on the back of her arm. Lexa says nothing, just smiles into her own glass. Clarke grabs the drink from her hand, and takes a sip.

She hums. “Red wine. I pegged you for the type.”

“Really?” Lexa asks. The wine, and the feeling she has known Clarke for forever spurs her on. “And what type am I?”

Clarke seems to think about it, and when she sits down on the floor, Lexa follows suit.

“Well, your apartment is ridiculously clean and tidy, so you’re an orderly person.” Lexa scrunches her nose, but it’s painfully true. “You don’t like mess. I can’t wait to see you when baby starts crawling, by the way.”

Lexa can’t wait to see that either. She can’t wait to meet him.

“Keep going,” she tells Clarke.

Clarke smiles gently at her, and plays along.

“First time I was here, you asked me everything O and Lincoln had already told you, I’m guessing to see if my answers matched, so you value honesty.” Lexa raises her eyebrows, taking a sip of her wine. It’s true. “Octavia doesn’t respect people very easily,” Clarke continues, “and she respects you, so you must be legit.”

“Legit?” Lexa snorts slightly. She’s so used to legal talk that certain words Clarke uses make her feel younger -make her feel her age. She hasn’t been this relaxed in a while.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, grinning before becoming more serious. “You live alone, but that isn’t stopping you from becoming a mother, so you’re brave.”

She was afraid Clarke would say she’s lonely. That she has no one to sleep beside -never that she was brave.

“I don’t think it has to do with bravery,” Lexa tells her. She just wants a family, a child of her own.

“It does,” Clarke says. “Not a lot of people who have a choice would jump into parenting like that, without someone available 24/7.”

“I have you.” The words slips from Lexa’s mouth unchecked, and her cheeks warm. She looks down to her glass of wine, nearly empty now.

“Yeah, you have me.” Clarke touches her elbow, and Lexa looks up to see her gentle smile before Clarke’s takes another drink, draining her glass. Her lips leave imprints on the glass.

“But it’s not the same, right?” Lexa asks. “You must be wondering why I don’t- why I’m not married. Why I chose to do this alone.” It’s not that Lexa wants her approval, but it’s hard to believe a stranger could be so kind.

“I’m not.” Clarke shrugs. “It’s not my place and to be honest, I think there are no bad reasons for what you’re doing.” Clarke smiles at her, and Lexa returns it.

The blonde feels like the close friend Lexa never really had, and Lexa knows she’s paying her but she likes the feeling.

“So, Clarke,” she says, getting up from the floor to collect their glass and clear her head. “What’s the verdict? What type am I?”

“All in all…I’d say bad-ass businesswoman with a heart of gold.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

When Lexa was little, autumn was her favorite time of year.

 

She loved the weather, the piles of leaves on every street corner. She always ran a little cold, and when the weather got chilly Anya was a lot more receptive to Lexa poking her side and climbing into her bed at night. Lexa would often wake Lincoln, too, and their parents would find them in a pile of limbs and blankets in the morning. The Woods siblings, huddling together for warmth and company.

 

Lexa grew out of it, eventually. Then Autumn’s tradition became Anya visiting home from college and making Lexa and Lincoln her world famous hot chocolate.

 

There was a large oak at the front of their house growing up. Lexa broke her arm when she was nine, after falling of the tire swing there. She spent the entire three months while she wore the cast being a little brat and having everyone do everything for her. 

 

The tree was a red oak, she came to know later, which would explain the brilliant scarlet color the leaves turned during fall. She used to love the wait, to notice their color changing and announcing her favorite season. And then Lexa would spend hours just looking out her window, seeing the leaves fall one by one.

 

Autumn always brought her good things.

 

Lexa eventually grew out of waiting for the leaves to turn red. After a few years, she only noticed because her parents pointed it out, and Lexa would raise her eyes from her books just long enough to see and feel faintly reminiscent of her childhood. 

 

She remembers that sweet wait now.

 

Every day that passes is a day she is closer to meeting her son, and it only feels fitting that the season, which had always been her favorite one, begins to make itself known when there is only a month to go for Costia’s due date.

 

Lexa is the most nervous she’s ever been.

 

Clarke is true to her promise and keeps sending her information, sites and pdf books about skin to skin contact and attachment parenting, and something called a Montessori room that Lexa would really like to try when the baby is a bit older. It’s a barrage of information but it makes everything seem more and more real. 

 

And then, of course, there are her e-mails with Costia.

 

They exchange letters a few times a week as her pregnancy progresses, and that more than anything makes this tiny person who will be her son feel like a reality to Lexa.

 

She and Costia talk about the baby’s room, Lexa sends her pictures of the crib and the mural above it, and asks about Costia’s appointments. Lexa doesn’t want to overstep boundaries since Costia hasn’t invited her, but she so wants to be there during an ultrasound and feel closer to the baby. Her baby, in a month. Just under a month.

 

Lexa is the most nervous she’s ever been, but also the most excited. Waiting for leaves to fall never felt as good as this.

 

 

//

 

 

“Aden.” Anya tries out the name and Lexa’s stomach swoops. “That’s a nice name. Cute. What are you thinking for a middle name?”

 

Lexa hikes Ty up higher on her thigh and walks back to the living room, refilled glass of wine in one hand. She sits down on the couch next to Lincoln, while Anya sits on the floor, reading over the instructions for the car seat that just arrived yesterday.

 

For a change, they’re having their weekly dinner at her apartment.

 

“I was thinking Alexander, for our dad.” It was always in the back of her head, but now, sharing it with her siblings, it feels right. Lexa misses her parents, with that lonesome sort of ache she misses her childhood, and she wants to honor them. She got her name from him. She’d love to carry on tradition.

 

Anya smiles, and so does Lincoln.

 

“He would be proud of you,” Anya tells her, while Lincoln squeezes her knee. 

 

“I love it,” he tells her. “Our dad would have, too.”

 

“Da-da,” Ty says, and Lexa smiles.

 

“That’s right, da-da.” She has the baby stand up on her lap, his little feet digging into her thighs. He’s wearing the cutest socks, and his tiny, tiny shoes are on the floor of her living room somewhere. “Can you say aunt?” Lexa asks, smiling, and Ty smiles in return. “Come on, aunt! Auntie Lexa. Aunt.”

 

“Ohn!” Ty babbles.

 

“Good luck with that, kid,” Anya tells her.

 

Ty bounces in her lap before reaching for Lincoln. “Dada!”

 

“Okay, go to dada.” She passes her nephew over to Lincoln. She smiles at the way Ty nearly jumps into her brother’s arms. Anya gives her a smile, and Lexa knows her sister is imagining the same with her.

 

She’ll have a son.  Her son. 

 

In just under a month.

 

 

//

 

 

“She was my paediatrician when I was kid,” Clarke says, and Lexa writes down the name of the woman Clarke just mentioned. She’s been calling Clinics and looking up doctors in the area, but she’s at a stump of which to choose.

 

“And was she good?” She asks Clarke, who’s leaning down to her webcam, Lexa can see that much, as she can see the tank top she’s wearing. She tries very hard not to stare.

 

Clarke is sitting on her couch, her hair spread around her shoulders, no make-up -she’s obviously having an afternoon at home and Lexa appreciates that when she sent an e-mail to Clarke asking for recommendations what she got back was an offer to skype.

 

She’s not used to it, and she appreciates it. Clarke seems less like an employee and more of a…friend.

 

“The best.” Clarke says, and she leans down -is she petting an animal? It’s odd, how little she actually knows about her, apart from the college she went to and her former career as a doctor. Clarke raises a cup to her lips -not a pet then. What if Aden is allergic? That would be knowledge Clarke would need to hand out to mothers, right?

 

“Actually,” Clarke calls her attention back to her image on the screen. “She took care of my check-ups until I was 15, as a favor to my mom. She’s really great. I say this as both a former doctor and a former patient.” Clarke’s otherwise bright smile dims a little when she mentions being a former doctor, and Lexa files it away to ask.

 

“Okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

 

She looks up the woman on-line, but she values Clarke’s judgment enough that she has an inkling the doctor will end up being her son’s pediatrician. 

 

Opposed to what she’s always believed, Lexa is starting to think maybe someone’s commendation is worth more than piles of research. After all, Lincoln recommended Clarke, and he wasn’t wrong.

 

 

//

 

 

Clarke will be home with them for the entire first week of Aden’s life. (Lexa has taken to calling him by his name in her head, with Costia’s blessing that she liked it.) She’ll be Clarke’s only ‘mommy’, as Clarke so adeptly wrote in her last e-mail, at least for a while.

 

Lexa is glad she has a big apartment then.

 

She’s always had a history of bringing work home, so when she moved out of her parent’s house she bought a 3-bedroom. She had plans to turn the spare room into a gym, but she never got around to that. She used it as storage instead, and she’s glad now, since it ended up being the nursery.

 

It leaves Clarke her office. (Clarke offered to take the couch, but Lexa would never allow a guest to do that, regardless if she was technically an employee. Lexa’s parents would turn in their graves.) Her office is nice enough. Minimalist, like the rest of the house (meaning Lexa could never be bothered to decorate) but that’s a good thing now. Once she covers the desk and sets up a folding bed, it’s close enough to a bedroom. Clarke’s bedroom for a week.

 

In her adult life, Lexa has never lived with anyone. Not even her one and only serious girlfriend right after college managed to get her to give up and share her space. She always loved a place to call her own and just her own, but if the past few months have taught her anything, its how lonely it can get. She’s glad Clarke will be around. 

 

She’s even happier for the reason why.

 

It’s strange to think in a few weeks she won’t ever live alone again (or for the next 20 or so years)but it’s not an unwelcome thought. She’s had enough of the quiet calm and minimalist decoration. She’s ready for her son to get home.

 

After his first week, she and Clarke greed that Clarke will work 4 days a week for three months. The contract was signed, the first month Lexa paid in advance -it’s real. It’s comforting, to say the least, to know she will have someone experienced around to help when her son is here. Not that Clarke hasn’t been a lifesaver since before that. Lexa has only to peek into the nursery to catch sight of the lovely mural Clarke painted, or open the box with the wrap carrier Clarke recommended.

 

Little by little, Lexa is not sure how, her apartment is inundated with Clarke-things. The weirdest part is how for such a reserved, orderly person, it doesn’t bother her. Clarke has a way of making Lexa comfortable in a way that she was sorely needing, of making her chuckle, of…waking her up. It makes Lexa realize just how asleep she was before.

 

 

/ /

 

 

Ty turns one without much fanfare.

 

Octavia convinces Lincoln that they should wait to throw the baby a big party when he can actually remember it, or has friends to invite, and Anya agrees.

 

Lincoln tells Lexa he is still baking a humongous cake. 

 

She drives to their place this time, because carrying a gift in the subway disagrees with her. She bought a tiny toy lawn mower, because she read that toys you can push around encourage babies to learn how to walk, which Ty hasn’t mastered just yet; a set of large legos perfect for tiny hands, and this…cat toy thing, that talks back. She may have gone a little overboard, but hey, her only nephew is turning one.

 

With traffic, by the time she gets to Lincoln’s the party -or small reunion- is already in full swing.

 

Lexa gives her brother a sheepish smile when he opens the door, the birthday boy in his arms. She hands him Ty’s present and takes the baby from him.

 

“Happy birthday,” she tells him, squeezing him gently, ands Ty, ever the happy baby, just giggles at her kisses and grabs a hold of Lexa’s necklace.

 

She recognizes some of the people inside.

 

Blake is there with his husband, a small little boy sitting on his lap. Blake - Bellamy nods at her when he sees her, and Lexa smiles back.

 

A dark haired woman Lexa doesn’t know speaks to Octavia on the side, and Lincoln tells her the two men and the woman to the far back, speaking with Anya, are his co-workers. She jumps when someone pokes her side, Lincoln laughs, even Ty giggles, and Lexa turns around.

 

“Clarke,” she breathes out.

 

“Lexa!” She’s surprised by the hug she receives, but it doesn’t bother her in the least. Rather, it makes her feel warm. “Hey there. We were wondering when you’d get here.”

 

“There was- there was a lot of traffic.”

 

“Oh, I just took the subway,” Clarke tells her.

 

“That might have been a little hard for Lexa with whatever this gift is,” Lincoln jokes. “She has a tendency to go overboard,” her brother tells Clarke, in a stage whisper.

 

“Don’t I know it,” Clarke says, and winks at Lexa.

 

She simply hikes Ty higher up her waist. At least he never teases her.

 

The rest of the party goes by quickly, when most people have children of their own to put to bed and work in the morning. (Bellamy winks at her when he says maybe his boss will let him come in late. Lexa laughs when she gives him a hard ‘no’ that has the rest of the party cackling.) She meets Raven, another one of Octavia’s friends, and she even talks a little with her brother’s co-workers. It’s nice, and before she knows it Octavia is blowing the candles for Ty, who happily sits in her lap, and sticks his hand in the cake when Octavia looks away.

 

He sucks the icing from his fingers, laughing like he figured something amazing out, and the room erupts in laughter, which only seems to spur him on. It’s incredible, how such a small, tiny person, has a personality all of his own. She thinks of what Aden will be like, she can’t wait to find out.

 

Lexa smiles.

 

 

//

 

 

Lexa offers Clarke a ride back to DC. She is oddly, mildly disappointed when Clarke declines, saying she has plans to spend the night with Octavia and Raven. 

 

(She wishes he had friendships like theirs, that’s all. She’s too busy with work to have friends elsewhere, and not many people socialize with the boss. It’s fine.)

 

She goes home.

 

 

//

 

 

 

Clarke arrives -in time for once- motorcycle helmet in one hand, a paint-splattered black bag in the other, for their last visit before Aden gets there.

 

“How are we holding up, mom?” Clarke asks when she walks in, and surprisingly envelops Lexa in a quick hug. Clarke smells sweet. Lexa is beginning to get used to it

 

Lexa wants to answer ‘fine’, but the words are stuck in her throat.

 

Not for the first time she feels there’s something missing, like there’s something she doesn’t know yet or has overlooked. Excitement overwhelms her most of the time, but when she really thinks about it, does she feel completely ready? She’s poured over every book Clarke sent her. Fixed the apartment, baby-proofed every corner even if she wouldn’t need that for months -and  yet .

 

“I feel like I’m still missing something,” Lexa says honestly, her eyes trailing after Clarke, who heads to the nursery. She has industrial amounts of baby wipes and diapers, and what Clarke considered a ‘more sensible amount of onesies’ than what she initially ordered, but her mind still metaphorically itches. Lexa looks around the baby’s room while Clarke sets up her paints.

 

“I’m missing shoes,” she says suddenly. “Baby shoes.”

 

Clarke looks as though she’s containing a laugh.

 

“Lexa, his little feet will never touch the ground,” Clarke assures her. She stands up, and Lexa forces herself not to take a step back when Clarke steps into her space. Her hands are warm when she gently holds Lexa’s upper arms.

 

“Listen, all you truly need is a way to clean your baby, clothe your baby, and feed your baby.” Clarke smiles at her. “And lots of love. Strong gag reflexes.” She scrunches her nose and it makes Lexa smile, too. “Everything else is not really necessary, I promise.”

 

Lexa takes a breath. She’s overreacting, it’s fine. She’s ready. This is  her son , she’ll know what to do. She’ll have to. It’s her baby.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Do you have any other concerns?” Clarke asks her, rubbing up and down Lexa’s arm. “I’m here for you.”

 

Lexa shakes her head, her arms tingling from the contact. She’s not used to people other than her siblings touching her. She’s not sure she wants to focus on the question, either.

 

“Would you like to have dinner here?” she asks, brushing off Clarke’s inquiry.

 

Clarke accepts, then gets to work.

 

 

//

 

 

The bechamel sauce gently simmers while Lexa hears Clarke wash her brushes in the bathroom. She wants to peek into the nursery and see the finished product, but if her father taught her anything about cooking is never to leave food unattended. 

 

Clarke banned her from the nursery while she finished ‘details’, and Lexa scoffs internally at being kept from a room in her own apartment. She isn’t an artist, though, so she’ll let Clarke have it this time.

 

She turns the sauce off and spoons the cooked pasta into it, then the shrimps and lastly the parmesan. The cheese melts as she stirs.

 

“Damn,” she hears from behind her, and turns around just in time to catch Clarke closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. She lets out a moan. “That smells amazing,” she says, and Lexa blushes -she feels the flutter in her cheeks and the heat, and that hasn’t happened in years. 

 

“Before dinner though- which I’m very thankful I’m invited to-”

 

“Don’t mention it.”

 

“There’s something you need to see.”

 

Clarke is playful, and Lexa smiles as she follows her.

 

Clarke stops right outside the nursery, and steps behind Lexa. Lexa is about to ask when she feels Clarke’s hands cover her eyes. 

 

“Easy,” Clarke tells her when Lexa jumps slightly. She’s not used to such closeness with someone new, and she briefly wonders who raised Clarke for her to be so damn tactile. “Ready?”

 

She smiles despite herself and nods.

 

Clarke manages to open the door -did she kick it?- and then uncovers Lexa’s eyes.

 

It’s beautiful.

 

The pictures from before suddenly look ten times better, more…defined somehow, lively. Giraffes almost jump off the wall, the puddles a raincoat wearing toddler jumps on almost seem wet. Above it all, the name ‘Aden’ is written in cursive letters.

 

The solid wood crib sits beneath it, and a rocking chair -her mother’s rocking chair, which Lincoln brought out of storage for her- is placed in the corner.

 

It’s all incredibly lovely. It’s all overwhelmingly terrifying.

 

For the first time in ages, her throat stings.

 

“Thank you,” she tells Clarke. It’s all she can do.

 

//

 

  
Lexa is quiet during dinner.

 

She’s a less than perfect host to Clarke, letting her fill most silences, but she’s kind of freaking the fuck out. The next time Clarke will be here, she’ll have a baby in her arms. There’s nothing left to do, or to prepare, not last minute objects to assemble or things to worry about. The mural is done. She’s ready. But she doesn’t feel completely ready.

 

Clarke seems to pick up on it, but Lexa avoids her eyes, shifting the conversation towards the blonde instead. She can never know too much about who’s going to be around her son, is her excuse.

 

“You never did tell me why you dropped out of residency,” Lexa mentions. Clarke looks up, startled.

 

Clarke wipes her lips with the cloth napkin Lexa set on the table. If her dad taught her to cook, her mom always told her to have a decent set up for guests. It serves a purpose now, if only to give Clarke time to recover.

 

“…You could tell I was holding something back, huh?” 

 

Lexa shrugs.

 

“I’m good at reading people.” It’s something she’s proud off.

 

“I bet,” Clarke says, in that cheeky way of hers that Lexa has begun to find endearing in the woman. 

 

“So…what happened?”

 

Clarke’s smile slips away. “I lost a patient.”

 

“ Oh .”

 

It’s not the answer she was expecting, and not so fast. Her face must reflect her surprise, because Clarke hurries to explain.

 

“There was nothing we could have done,” she says. “Sometimes people are just too hurt for even modern medicine to help them. All you can do is stand there and…talk them through dying.” Clarke’s mouth tightens and Lexa wishes she’d never asked at all. Clarke looks up. “It sucks. It made me realize that I just wanted to help people, but that I could choose to do that without the added trauma of death.”

 

Lexa nods. Clarke offers her a smile, and it’s tinged with sadness.

 

“I would've specialized in neonatal care, had I become a physician,” Clarke tells her. “It’s why I chose this. It’s the exact opposite of the ER. There’s…life, everywhere. I don’t think I’ve seen anything more beautiful than a mother holding her baby for the first time.” Clarke’s smile is bright now, and it calms something in Lexa. “Is that an answer?” Clarke asks. 

 

Lexa doesn’t remember the question.

 

“Lexa…look, I know you’re paying me, but the entire point of this is for you to lean on me,” Clarke tells her. “Trust me.” 

“I do trust you, Clarke.” Lexa is surprised to find it’s true. She’s seen her degree, and she actually called the university where she graduated to ask about her to confirm it was true that first day they met. The logical thing is to trust the woman she’s paying to help her out, but it isn’t simply that. 

There’s something about her.

Lexa doesn’t trust easily, or quick, but with Clarke that was different. 

“Then what’s wrong?” Clarke asks, covering her hand with her own. It feels overly personal. It should make her uncomfortable, and it does…in a way. It makes her feel like she might jump out of her skin. She doesn’t take her hand away.

“What if I don’t love him?” Lexa asks. It comes out before she’s even decided to confide in Clarke. And now it’s out there, and it’s what’s been eating away at her. “What if they give him to me and I feel nothing? What if he doesn’t feel like my son?”

Hot shame climbs up her neck at the thought, because her single minded determination these past few months has been to become a mom, and now that every las thing is ready…she’s doubting herself a mere few weeks away from the birth.

“He  is already your son,” Clarke says.

Lexa blinks.

“I’m sorry, I sound like an awful person,” she excuses herself. She pulls away from Clarke, busying herself with the cutlery.

“No, you sound like a mom-to-be,” Clarke corrects her. She feels Clarke’s hand on her arm, and she can’t help the calm that comes over her. “You’d be surprised at the amount of women, adopting or not, that wonder that right before their babies get there.”

“Really?” she asks, feeling so achingly vulnerable. She’s split open for Clarke to see.

“Yeah.” Lexa looks up, and Clarke smiles. “See? You’re doing great already.”

 

//

 

 

“I almost forgot,” Clarke says near the door, and pulls something out of her large purse, extending it to Lexa.

 

“What’s that?” she asks.

 

“The Fun of It, Amelia Earhart. It was literally the farthest thing away from baby books that I could think of.”

 

She frowns, because she thought the point of those was for Lexa to be ready. She didn’t exactly have 9 months to do that like most mothers. Clarke smiles at her gently.

 

“You have to remember…not to forget yourself, Lexa. It’ll be even harder when the baby is here, but it’s also healthy to focus on other things every once in a while, you know. On yourself. And that’s why I’m here for, too.” Clarke winks at her, and presses the book firmly into her hands. “Don't get overwhelmed, we’ll have plenty of time for that when your son is here.”

 

With a gentle hug and a smile, Clarke is on her way.

 

 

//

 

 

It’s a good book.

 

It’s an autobiography, and Lexa doesn’t know a lot about planes, but it’s immersive. It’s been quite a long time since she last read a book for her own enjoyment, rather than pages upon pages of cases or contracts for work, and it’s a welcome change.

 

It allow her to…disconnect.

 

She’s still nervous and excited and a million different things, but she’s glad she took Clarke’s advice and stopped thinking for a second. She reads instead.

 

Lines about fair weather and 12,000 feet and flying alone, and she wonders if Clarke chose this book at random at all, because it’s ho Lexa feels. In a way, it’s what she’s doing. She’s going at this alone, even with her doula and her siblings, she’ll still be Aden’s only parent and she hasn’t given that much thought at all. It’s scary. It feels like free-falling. It’s on her. If things go wrong, for things to go right. Only her.

 

She sinks into her bed and reads about storms and lightning and altimeters, and before she knows it, her eyes are falling closed.

 

Lexa dreams of holding a baby and flying through the sky.

 

 

/ /

 

 

A call wakes her up.

 

Her neck hurts from falling asleep reading, the books is still on her lap, askew, and the ringing won’t stop. She runs her hand over her face and looks at the time. 9:00 pm. It’s early, and she didn’t mean to fall asleep at all.

 

She gets out of bed and picks up her cell phone before the call goes to voice mail.

 

When she hears who it is, her blood runs cold.

 

“Miss Woods, hello,” Nissly says.

 

“Is the baby okay?” It’s the first thing that runs through her mind, that she’s calling at this hour, weeks before she should. Lexa’s heart jumps to her throat.

 

“Yes! Yes, of course. He’s perfectly fine,” Nissly tells her, and Lexa breathes a little easier. “But…Well, I’m afraid I’m calling with..not the best of news.”

 

Just like that, her stomach falls again.

 

Lexa’s scared to ask, but she does.

 

“What’s…” She swallows. “What’s wrong?”

 

Nissly breaths into the phone, this, pitiful little sigh and things start to fall apart for Lexa right then.

 

“Our birth mom, Miss Mckenzie… she called us this afternoon. After her last check up…” Lexa’s stomach bottoms out before Nissly even says the words. “Miss Wood…Lexa, Miss Mckenzie has decided not to proceed with the adoption.”

 

“Oh.”

 

It’s a wonder she’s still standing. 

 

It feels like she’s been punched, square in the chest, and the pain goes through her like a wave. She sits down.

 

“This is very unfortunate,” Nissly tells her. “But she was under no legal obligation to go through with-”

 

“No, I…I know.” She does know, and it hurts, and she can’t make sense of it happening at all. Her heart is still stuck in the moment, but her mind is already trying to protect her.

 

“I’m very sorry, Miss Woods. This happens sometimes, but it doesn’t have to be the end. We will keep showing your profile to prospective moms and-”

 

“Do you mind if I call you back?” she asks Nissly desperately. “I’m busy at the moment.”

 

Nissly doesn’t comment on the fact it’s 8:00pm on a Friday night.

 

“Of course. My apologies.” 

 

Lexa closes the phone after that, after she’s been given the leeway to fall apart. 

 

Her chest feels tight and hot and it’s like something has been ripped off, and she’s left trying to make sense of what’s left. She was ready. His room is ready. He had a name. She…she loved him, a big part of her already loved him, or the idea of him, and it’s…it’s gone. 

 

She can’t think. She can’t rationalize it when it’s so hard to breathe. Her throat burns. She can’t do as Clarke said and-

 

Clarke.

 

That, even further, makes her throat close up.

 

She’s dialing the number before she realizes what she’s doing. 

 

She doesn’t know what she wants, someone to listen, or that calm the woman seems to bring, or doing something to make it real. Because it _is_ real. Somehow, calling Clarke seems to do all three.

 

“Hey, Lexa-”

 

“Clarke-” Her voice is rough. 

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“I won’t be needing your services any more,” she says, forcing her voice to hold on.

 

“What?”

 

She swallows, squeezes her eyes tight, until two hot tears fall. It makes sense now, begins to dawn on her as she speaks.

 

“Costia, she, huh…” Saying it out loud makes it real. She breathes in. “The birth mother backed off.” 

 

“Shit. I mean, sorry. Are you okay? Do you want me to come over?”  
  
Lexa almost laughs, bitter.

 

“No. No baby, remember?”

 

Clarke is fast. “I’m supposed to be there for you too.”

 

No, you’re supposed to be there for mothers and I’m not one.

 

“I’m fine,” Lexa says, even thought it doesn’t feel anywhere near true. “Thank you.”

 

It’s final, and she itches to end the call already. She doesn’t know what she was looking for, but she didn’t find it.

 

“Lexa…For whatever it’s worth, I think you will make an amazing mother, whenever that happens. We can-”

 

Lexa closes the call, and cries. 


	4. Chapter 4

Lexa doesn’t get out of bed for a whole day.

It makes her sick, walking past that room, with the crib and the boxes with the clothes, and the stupid painting on the wall welcoming someone who would never be there.

It hurts.

She screens her brother’s calls, lets them go to voice mail because she knows she’ll lose it if she speaks with Lincoln. She hates herself for it, but she doesn’t want to be vulnerable this time, not when Lincoln has a son and a girlfriend to get back to after he comforts Lexa, lonely Lexa, stupid, hopeful Lexa. 

They usually talk all the time, and she hopes Lincoln thinks she’s too busy to pay attention to him, because she doesn’t know yet how she’ll him -tell them- this. She can barely think about it without tears springing up to her eyes. (And since when has that happened to Lexa? She’s not the type.)

She knows they’re worried when Anya, self proclaimed hater of speaking on the phone Anya, calls, but Lexa ignores that one too.

She doesn’t answer her sibling’s texts, either, and for the first time in ages calls her secretary and tells her she’ll be missing a week of work.

“Are you starting your leave early?” the man asks, because of course Lexa had told them she’d be taking leave for 3 months, but now that’s shot to hell. Now she only needs a week to get her shit back together.

“No, just a week, Michael, please.” She makes her way through her apartment, walking into her office and removing the white sheet she’d draped over her desk. “Please keep me posted through e-mails please,” she tells him, because while she might not be up to going in, she can’t let her parent’s firm suffer because she feels bad.

That’s not who they raised. 

“Of course, Mrs.Woods,” Michael says. 

Lexa closes the call. He’s had years to get used to her occasional abrasiveness.

She puts her phone down, and stares at the wall, and wonder how long is it going to take for her chest to stop stinging. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she allows herself, and the silence of the apartment spits the word back.

 

//

 

The afternoon of the second day After, Anya shows up at the door.

“How did you know?” Is the first thing Lexa asks her, trying and failing to look strong in her pajamas at 5pm in the afternoon. 

She knows she couldn’t hide forever, but she didn’t think a single day would be enough for them to figure out something was amiss, rather than she just being busy again.

“Lincoln called me last night,” Anya says, and Lexa dislikes the way her sister eyes her, eyes -not judging, exactly- maybe cataloging every hair out of place. Anya could always read her better than anyone.

“And how did _he_ know?” Lexa asks. Anya just stares back at her, and that’s when she knows the answer. “Fucking Clarke.”

She feels hot shame, she’s not sure why, at the thought that both her siblings know now. It’s a relief that she doesn’t have to tell them herself, but it still hurts, and most of all, makes her feel like hiding. 

And who gave Clarke the right to call her family?

“Lexa, why didn’t you call me?” Anya asks, and Lexa shakes her head. Anya is seldom soft with her, that’s always been Lincoln, and so she can’t deal with her sister treating her like she’s delicate right now. 

So she does what she does best.

“I'm a grown woman, okay,” she says, taking a step back. “I don't need you to kiss it better every time I scrap my knees.”

Anya looks at her with understanding and that’s even worse. Her hit doesn’t land.

“You did when you were a kid,” Anya says, raising her hand like she’s going to touch Lexa, and that would break her. She’s refrained from crying so far.

“Anya, please,” she pleads, finally, looking up and letting her sister see the tears that will surely come out if she doesn’t leave.

“Take a shower, please,” Anya orders, stepping back. Lexa breathes easier. “And eat. And text our brother, he was about ready to come over, too.”

Anya looks conflicted, it fleets across her features but still doesn’t trump Lexa’s gratefulness. 

“I’m-”

“I know.”

Anya offers her a sad smile.

“We’re both here for you kid.”

Lexa nods, feeling the space where the newest part of her family  was supposed to reside stinging.

“Thank you,” she says.

Anya leaves, and Lexa is supremely thankful.

 

//

 

Lexa doesn’t feel sorry for herself. 

As a rule, she’s never been one to do so, but it feels like a joke that she was so hopeful for so long and then the reason for her joy ended so abruptly. She’s angry, at herself, for letting hope take over, and at Costia, for changing her mind, and at Nissly and Clarke and a thousand other people-

There’s a knock on her door.

Lexa is wary of opening it, because she expects Lincoln with Ty in his arms, hoping to cheer her off, or Anya, trying again for some reason. What she doesn’t expect is a blonde holding a motorcycle helmet in her hands.

“Clarke.” Seeing her is disarming for a moment, it knocks Lexa off course before she remembers her reddened eyes and sweatpants and greasy bun, the very visible signs of how she feels, how she doesn’t want anyone seeing her.

“Lexa, hey,” Clarke says softly, sweetly, and Lexa doesn’t want it, can’t handle pity, so she does what she does best and withdraws.

“I thought I’d talked to you,” she says, taking a step back and putting distance between them.

“I, huh,” Clarke stumbles, her brow furrowed.

“So?” she asks, holding off on slamming the door in Clarke’s face

 Lexa is acting like a child, and she knows it, but every second the door remains open is another second that Lexa almost loses it, that tears almost overflow.

“You paid me in advance-”

“You can keep it.” She doesn’t care about money now, that’s the last thing on her mind. It’s not like there was anything better she could have spent it in. 

“I returned it,” Clarke says. “As soon as you called me, I sent it back.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Clarke’s eyes are soft, gentle. Full of that warmth that made Lexa believe the doula would be perfect to help her care for her baby. Her baby. Everything time she thinks that it hurts.

“I’ll leave if you ask,” Clarke says. “But I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“We’re not friends,” Lexa says, as firmly as she can manage. “You were working for me and now you’re not.”

“Regardless, I told you I’d be here for you, and -” Lexa shakes her head, and Clarke raises her hand before she can protest. ”Baby or not,” Clarke says. And Lexa can tell she means it, but it doesn’t make the feelings bubbling up in her chest any easier to deal with. This doesn’t just feel hard, it feels overpowering. Empty. 

She feels empty.

“It’s not in me to turn away when someone I know is going through a hard time,” Clarke tells her, shrugging slightly.

“Well it’s not in me to let people in,” Lexa says, a humorless, bitter laugh leaving her lips. “Maybe that’s why,” she says, her breathing faster. “Maybe that’s what Costia saw, maybe that’s why-”

Clarke’s arms are around her.

 

//

 

They sit on the couch.

She’s still reeling from Clarke’s hug, from the strength of the arms around her and how wholly good it felt to be held, to be comforted.

Lexa tries to keep her distance, but Clarke sits next to her, turns toward her on the large couch and leans forward and is so open and real and waiting in front of Lexa, she’s blindsided.

She’s been blindsided since the woman showed up at her door.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” Clarke says, and Lexa swallows.

“It’s..It’s fine, it’s not like someone died,” she says, trying to downplay it. When she really thinks about it, she feels stupid.

Suddenly, warm fingers envelop her own.

Clarke’s hands feel so strong, yet they hold Lexa’s so softly.

“It’s still a blow. It’s difficult, you’re allowed to feel that.”

But she doesn’t want to.

“You had no right to tell my brother,” Lexa says, finally looking up. She doesn’t expect Clarke’s eyes to be so close, so blue.

“I’m sorry. I know…I know I overstepped my boundaries and if you want me to go, I’ll go, but when you called…I got worried, Lexa.” Clarke’s thumb rubs the back of Lexa’s hand, like she might image Clarke does for women giving birth. It’s so easy to forget the way Clarke touches -her and the world- is because of her job.

“Worried?”

“Yes. I just…I thought you might need your family.”

Lexa nods, because if she talks about it she’ll cry.

“Do you need me to help you out here?” Clarke asks, letting go of her hand, as if sensing Lexa needed time to get herself back together. Lexa shakes her head.

“Clarke, you’re not- you’re not my doula anymore.”

Clarke meets her eyes, and gives her a tentative smile.

“I like to think we could be friends,” Clarke tells her easily, and Lexa’s chest warms at the words, she’s not sure why. “I mean…seeing as you are the sister of my best friend’s boyfriend, we ought to know each other, don’t we?”

Clarke nudges Lexa with her shoulder, and a shy, small smile paints her lips briefly.

“I guess you’re right,” Lexa says, following along.

“I know I am,” Clarke says, smiling.

“And humble too.”

Clarke doesn’t stay much, gets through to putting a single dirty glass on the kitchen for Lexa to shut down her ‘help’, and they don’t talk much about it either, while she’s there.

She tells Clarke she’s liking the book Clarke gifted her so far, that Amelia Earhart was a remarkable woman, and Clarke pinks at that. They discuss it, and then the show Clarke is watching (which Lexa promises to check out soon).

They don’t talk about the mural just a wall away from them, emblazoned with the words ‘Aden’ for a baby boy Lexa will now never get to meet. They don’t talk about Clarke’s work as a doula, either.

And Lexa doesn’t know if Clarke made it a point to distract her the minute she showed up, but the conversation helps dissipate the cloud of gray she’s been sinking ever since Costia changed her mind, and get her feelings in check.

Or maybe that’s just Clarke.

 

//

 

“Get dressed,” Anya orders. “We’re going out.”

Clarke left late the night before, and Lexa had a dreamless night and an easy morning, which obviously meant Anya showing up, just after granting her space, to reclaim it.

Lexa knows its her sister’s way of showing her she cares, but she wishes Anya would just let her be, just this once. She wishes she was allowed to lick her goddamn wounds in peace for longer than a day. But that’s never been her sister’s style.

Anya drives her to a hotel, a long shot from the dive bars Anya usually favors, and Lexa is thankful. She knows her sister is trying to cheer her up. The effect is all but gone while they sit there and wait for their drinks, though, and Anya studies her closely. Her sister has always shied away from overt displays of affection, she’s the opposite of Lincoln in that way, and Lexa knows it has to do with her first few years as much as with her own hard wired personality.

She’s probably imagining it, that glint in Anya’s eyes that says maybe it wasn’t meant to be. She’s probably projecting, because heaven knows she sees it in her own eyes whenever the glass cabinets behind the bar show Lexa her reflection.

“Que será, será, right?” Anya asks her, before downing the shot that was placed in front of her. 

“You say that before getting drunk,” Lexa points out.

“And it applies to life just as well,” Anya tells her, before calling for a second round of shots. She takes Lexa’s, too, when it remains untouched, and Lexa begins to wonder why all of their conversations happen near alcohol. 

A minute later, when Anya turns and grabs Lexa’s hands, she thinks she knows why. Anya’s eyes are tender, in a way she’s not accustomed to.

 “You’re going to be the most bad-ass mommy of all time, you know that, right?” Anya asks her. “You just have to be patient.”

“You really think that?”

Anya squeezes Lexa’s hand, pressing the hard leather of her fingerless gloves against her skin, and Lexa clings to her sister like a lifeline.

“I know that. Do you remember when I got home the first time?” Anya asks.

“You were a brat,” Lexa tells her. Lexa’s parents had adopted her from Nepal, left to get her in a month long trip that Lexa was deemed to young to go in. She’d counted down the days until they all came back on a pink and blue calendar, and the idea of a sister to play with was enough to keep her anxiety from missing her parents at bay. 

Of course, when Anya came home, she didn’t play with Lexa at all like she’d expected, at least not for a long time. But Lexa still loved her.

“I was an 11 year old terror,” Anya tells her, smiling. “And you were only 7, but you still went to the airport to wait for our parents and me -you even made me a sign.”

“Welcome home big sister,” Lexa says, wistfully.

“That’s when I knew I’d never be alone again,” Anya tells her, and Lexa thinks she can see her eyes water though it could just be a trick of the light. “Our parents offered me a family but you sealed the deal. Any kid would be lucky to have you as their mother. You're an amazing person, baby girl… underneath all that crunchy hard exterior.”

Lexa scrunches her nose.

“Crunchy hard?”

“I am drunk.”

Anya laughs and lets go of her hand, and just like that the moment is over, but it’s enough for Lexa.

 

//

 

Anya drops her off at her apartment, and offers to stay with Lexa, but Lexa declines.

There is something she needs to do, and she can’t do it with her sister in the room.

She walks into the room, into the…nursery, Aden’s nursery, and takes out her cell phone.

It only rings twice.

“Hello?”

“I don’t begrudge you your choice,” Lexa says right away. She doesn’t think she needs to introduce herself either, and if Costia’s silence is anything to go by, she’s right. She needs to do this. “I just…I want to know…”

“Why?”

Lexa nods, even though Costia can’t see her.

It’s what’s been eating at her, and no amount of words from Clarke or her family will be able to fix that, to give Lexa an answer. 

What was it Costia saw that made her change her mind? What did Lexa do to suddenly be undeserving of raising a child, a baby she already cared for so deeply already?

“I couldn’t,” Costia says. “They showed me my son and I…I just couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine giving birth and not getting to bring my son home, not seeing him every day like I see my other children. I just couldn’t.”

Lexa squeezes her eyes tight, though two hot tears still slip out. Maybe it’s not about her at all.

“And what if he wonders,” Costia says desperately. “When he’s older, what if he asks me why did I raise his siblings and not him? If I loved him less?” Costia sniffs over the phone, and Lexa feels odly upset over it. The baby she thought would be her son is still in Costia's belly as they speak. 

Lexa pushes down her tears too, and thinks how it isn’t fair, how she’s alone right now and Costia isn’t. But slowly, though the lawyers of grief, realization begins to seep through.

“I’m sorry, Lexa, but I couldn’t.”

“I…” Lexa swallows, hard. “I understand.” Maybe she won’t ever understand that feeling in her chest, that emptiness whenever she thinks of that baby, but she needed to hear Costia’s explanation and now that she has…it only brings back that Costia is a mother the way Lexa had hoped to become a mother. And she would have never given up her baby, so how can she fault Costia for the same?

“…Will you and you family be okay?” Lexa asks. Part of her is still thinking about Aden, her brain still calling him by that name that she’s sure Costia won’t use. She’s concerned about that little girl she met when she saw Costia for the first time, because Costia is a mother the way Lexa had hoped to become a mother, and it can’t be easy knowing you can’t provide for your children.

“Yes,” Costia answers. “I’m selling my house and moving in with my sister. It’ll buy us some time.” Lexa listens, and hopes they’ll be fine. That is who her parents raised, through the pain, Lexa finally recognizes herself.

The person who pushed away Anya at first and almost slammed the door on who very well feels like her only friend? That’s not who she wants to be.

“I’m sorry, Lexa,” Costia reiterates.

“It’s okay.” It doesn’t feel like it, but Lexa still breathes deeply for the first time since she found out. It doesn’t hurt any less, but it’s no longer sinking her. “Goodbye, Costia.”

 

//

 

Lexa knows there are other options. 

And she begins to feel horrible because the worst part is that Ade- that baby boy will be all right, he’ll be with his mother never know Lexa had wanted to be that for him. He’ll grow up with his brother and sister and Lexa can’t fault Costia for that. 

The blow still leaves her breathless.

She thought calling Costia would make that feeling go away, but understanding her reasoning isn’t a cure for the hurt nestled in her chest.

Lexa stands in the middle of the nursery she painstakingly put together, in front of the mural she had Clarke paint, among the boxes with baby clothes and diapers and hand me downs from her brother.

And Lexa hasn’t felt so destructive in a long while.

Suddenly she’s throwing a tantrum she’s much too old for because Anya is leaving for college, or ripping her notebook apart because she failed a class in college. Very seldom does Lexa feel like this, she’s in control of herself but sometimes -sometimes she feels as though she could channel her pain and take out a city block.

She wants to throw the carrier out the window. She wants to paint over Clarke’s mural. Instead, she takes a deep breath. 

And finally lets herself cry.

She packs a few onesies and a teddy bear into a box, and calls Nissly. The agency will forward them to Costia and her son as soon as possible.

 

//

 

Her tears come to a stop faster than Lexa would have thought.

She’s never gotten in the habit of dealing with her feelings, and she thinks now that she ought to, because even when her head hurts and her eyes feel swollen, she feels…better, almost.

Her parents raised her to be a more or less well-rounded, well-adjusted person, but somewhere in the back of Lexa’s head she’d always felt her feelings made her weak, that she had to lead a firm and carry on her parent’s legacy and that did not fit well with crying. She grew up, of course, read up a few books about feminism, tried to stop imitating Anya, for whom being less emotional was just the status quo, and apart from her disappointing love life, Lexa thinks she handles her feelings just fine now.

She still seldom cries, but she’s not sorry this time. Disappointment still aches inside her, and she doesn’t think that will stop any time soon, but…maybe it was just a setback.

Maybe she should call Nissly back and tell her that of course she can keep showing her profile to prospective moms, and although it terrifies Lexa to do this all over again, to be let down again, she still can’t help but want it. 

She wants a child, that hasn’t changed, and once she makes her peace with that its so much easier to pick up the phone and call her brother. She’s ready to talk.

“And that’s why she changed her mind,” she tells Lincoln, who’s been quiet the entire she’s bee speaking. “And I mean, I can’t exactly fault her for that, can I?”

“You’re still allowed to be disappointed, Lexa,” he says. Lexa hears babbling in the background. “I know how excited you were about this baby.”

“There…there will be other chances.” She convinces herself of that.

“Of course,” Lincoln agrees. “But I know you were picturing an Aden already.”

Lexa sighs. She doesn’t know if she’ll use that same name if - when - there’s another mom. 

“I know,” she says. “But I’m feeling better. I’m sorry about giving you the cold shoulder, I just needed to process by myself for a bit.”

She hears Lincoln’s thoughtful hum through the line.

“And Anya wouldn’t have sat down and cried with you.”

Lexa smiles. “No, she just took me to get drunk.”

Lincoln has always been so emotionally available, in a way no one in their family ever was, and Lexa thinks that’s what makes him such a good father and boyfriend -partner?- whatever he and Octavia are calling themselves these days. (It got him bullied when they were in high-school, got him called slurs before Lexa punched one of the guys on the nose and told the entire hallway she was the gay one and did that feel good? Lexa smiles at the memory.)

“I can come over, if you want?” Lincoln offers.

“I’d like that. Maybe this weekend? Bring Ty and Octavia, I’ll cook.” She’s not the best cook, but for her family she’s willing to try.

“You got it,” he says, and Lexa sees another encouraging, teary conversation in her future, but she’s never felt more thankful for her brother.

 

//

 

She’s floating in that limbo between awake and sleep when her phone rings, effectively waking her up. She drags her hand across her bedside table as she sits up, finding her cell phone and swiping the call open.

“Hello?”

She peers through bleary eyes at her digital clock, noting it’s almost 2 am. 

“Miss Woods. I’m sorry about the hour, this is Nissly from American Adoptions.”

Lexa’s heart speeds up. She’s been here before, not a week ago, but now…now that she’s come to terms with what happened, now that she had decided to give herself a week before contacting Nissly again, she doesn’t understand the reason for the call.

She’s still scared.

“Yes?”

“There’s an infant recently put up for adoption. We thought of you right away.”

She stops breathing.

“Who -Where is he?”

“It’s a girl,” Nissly says. “A beautiful, healthy little girl. She was born yesterday. You’re interested, yes?”

Lexa is reeling, her legs tangle with the sheets as she tries to get off the bed.

But still-

“I -Yes. Yes.” She says right away.

 

//

 

She doesn’t know how she gets to the hospital.

She’s sitting in her car when she remembers the car seat is still upstairs, and she frantically retrieves and secures it before starting to drive.

She vaguely remembers Nissly mentioning fast adoptions when she first visited, but Lexa never gave it much thought.

She’s at the hospital before she can think about it at all.

Nissly receives her at the front of the hospital, the woman’s gentle, practiced smile the only familiar thing about her, seeing as she’s wearing jeans and a sweater as opposed to her regular, vaguely secretarial clothes. It makes Lexa feel even more like she’s in a dream.

“And her mother?” Lexa asks, because Nissly paints her a picture that seems by far too easy, too simple. What if she meets the baby’s mom and she decides Lexa isn’t what she wants, what if it happens all over again-

“The birth mother left already,” Nissly tells her. “She signed the papers-”

“She didn’t even stay to meet me?” Lexa asks, faltering on a step.

“This happens sometimes,” Nissly tells her. “She looked rather… young, I reckon she wanted to get as far away from the…situation as possible.”

Lexa tries to make sense of it, that after weeks of planning and talking to Costia things still didn’t work out, and that out of nowhere this is happening. 

“She wanted a closed adoption,” Nissly continues. “We have her name on record so we will definitely be trying to get in touch again to inquire about any relevant family history, but! I do think this was mean to be!” Nissly exclaims, stopping in front of a doorway.

Lexa was always a clever kid, and intelligent adult, but it’s baffling. It seems ridiculous, too good to be true. Too goddamn convenient after the heartbreak she went through. 

“Ready to meet your daughter?” Nissly asks, and Lexa stops thinking at all. 

She just nods.

And then Lexa’s world is imploding, everything is reduced to the squealing pink thing in the bassinet in front of her.

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year...but this fic is back!

Her alarm clock is ringing.

Clarke gingerly opens one eye, feeling like she hasn’t slept enough for it to be morning already. Her body still feels sluggish with the heaviness of sleep, and she groans as she sits up in her bed.

Her initial assessment is right, because a quick glance at the windows lets her know it’s still dark outside.

And then it registers that what she’s hearing is not the annoying,  skull-drilling beep of her alarm clock, but the Star Wars theme song. 

Someone’s calling.

She fumbles, fishing her phone from the tangled sheets, and manages to answer before it goes to voicemail. 

“Hello?”

“Clarke, hi.”

_Lexa._

Clarke frowns, surprised that Lexa is calling her so late -or so early, actually- and trying, between the haziness of having just woken up, understand why she sounds so nervous, so happy. She can barely hear her through the crying. _Crying._

“Is that a…Is that a baby? Lexa?”

“Yes.”

Clarke jumps out of bed, the information hitting her like a bucket of cold water, and getting rid of the last dregs of sleep just the same. 

“Where are you?”

“In the parking lot.”

Clarke frowns at Lexa’s clipped, measured words. She’s surprised she’s holding it together this well, even if she’s not as forthcoming with the information.

“Where?”

“The hospital’s parking lot. I don’t- I can’t buckle up the damn seat and she’s still crying, and I- Nissly gone and I don’t know-”

There it is.

“Is she yours?” It’s what Clarke should have asked first, but in her defense, her brain is still spinning from the rude awakening. And now Lexa might have a baby.

“I…yes. I guess so, I mean -Yes. I adopted her.”

_“Holy shi_ t”, Clarke mouths to herself, and begins looking around her bedroom for a clean pair of jeans.

“And she won’t stop crying-” Lexa’s voice brings her back to the problem at hand, and Clarke tucks the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she steps inside a pair of pants.

“Lexa, listen to me. You’re okay, yeah? You’re fine. Can you take a deep breath for me? Great. Take her out of the car seat and just hold her until she calms down, okay?” It’s easy to take a breath and slip back into her role as a doula; it’s what Lexa needs of her right now. “When did she last eat?” 

“2 hours ago;” Lexa answers immediately. “I saw the nurses feeding her while I- while I signed everything.”

“Okay, good. So she’ll be wanting a bottle.” She grabs her motorcycle helmet from the breakfast island, and then locks the door, her hands full. “Newborns eat a lot more frequently than you’d imagine. Did they give you all you need?”

“Yes, the hospital set me up for the rest of the day.

“Good. Can you send me the address? I’m on my way.”

.

.

.

Her skin is paper thin.

It’s the thing that has Lexa shocked the most, followed closely by the size of those fingernails. Her fingers are perfect, all 10 of them, and so are her toes. Lexa counted. They’re so, so small. She never expected her to be this tiny. 

She never expected her at all.

Lexa is still dizzy with it, the surprise and the shock and the tender, swelling feeling taking up most of the space inside her ribcage. God, she’s so beautiful.

Her delicate eyelids remain closed as she suckles at the bottle, eagerly drinking the formula the hospital provided for Lexa. She never thought a newborn could be that strong, but the harsh sucking sounds and the swallows are the only noise inside the car. It’s a bit too warm for Lexa, she likes the chill of the air coinditioning, but she turned it off and rolled down the windows when she saw just how thin her pink skin was. She seems so fragile in Lexa’s arms.

So precious.

“Hey.”

Lexa looks away from the tiny miracle in her arms to meet Clarke’s eyes.

“Clarke.”

“Look at you,” Clarke says, something that sounded an awful lot like pride in her voice. Lexa smiles, and then her attention is back on the baby in her arms. The bottle is almost empty.

“Take it away now, you don’t want her to suck on air,” Clarke says very softly, and Lexa does when there’s but a few drops left. Perfect little lips remain in an ‘o’, her eyes still closed as she sleeps.

Clarke opens the door, her eyes on the bundle in her arms.

“She’s beautiful,” she tells Lexa. “What’s her name?”

Lexa looks down at the baby girl, delicate and yet so deceptively strong.

“Amelia,” she says firmly. “Amelia Aden Woods.”

Clarke looks surprised, and then settles into a sweet smile. 

“Like Amelia Earhart?” She asks, mentioning the book she gifted to Lexa, and that Lexa devoured not only during the wait for a son that never came, but during the days that came after, and Lexa nods.

“Yeah, like her.” Finding her daughter felt like crossing the pacific ocean, and Lexa couldn’t think of a better name for a little baby girl that already seemed so defiant and brave. 

She hadn’t breathed, at first, the nurses had said. 

But before the doctor could even think to intervene she opened those beautiful eyes and let out a scream to let the world know she had arrived. She sounded just like an Amelia.

Clarke seems to think so, too, as she looks down at the baby in Lexa’s arms, and caresses her cheek with the back of her finger.

“Well, hello there little fire.”

.

.

.

Lexa drives the slowest she’s ever driven. The 40 minute drive from the hospital takes nearly double, but she doesn’t want to risk it. Amelia sleeps peacefully in her carseat in the back. And Lexa can hardly believe she has a baby, a baby girl, and that she has a name that she gave her, inspired in turn by a book that Clarke gave her. 

She has a daughter. 

Two hours ago she was asleep, and before that she was still grieving for the little baby boy she’d thought was meant to be her son, and now her daughter is in the backseat, dozing away in her carseat. 

Lexa’s head is still spinning.

She arrives at the house a few minutes after Clarke, as the woman is waiting for her on the front steps of her apartment building, her helmet below her arm. 

“Should we go upstairs?” She asks softly once Lexa is out of the car, and Lexa nods, undertaking the nerve wracking process of getting the baby -Amelia, her name is Amelia- out of the carseat.

She puts her up on her shoulder without much trouble, and then isn’t entirely sure if she should be holding her differently, but she doesn’t dare try without a soft surface below her.

“Let’s go, “ Clarke says, leading the way, and Lexa tries to absorb some of the calm confidence the woman exudes.

“That is an excellent baby,” Clarke says as she opens the apartment door for her, with keys that she’s fished from Lexa’s pocket. “She didn’t wake up at all. Let’s see if our luck doesn’t run out when we put her down.”

Lexa swallows.

Every once in a while Amelia will wriggle, or move her fingers, tightening her little fists, or kick her legs, and at every single movement Lexa is alert, hoping she doesn’t wake up and yet somehow wanting her to do it again, if only to feel her move and know she’s alive. 

They make their way into the nursery, and it all seems so surreal to Lexa all of a sudden.

The mural Clarke painted is still on the wall, the name “Aden” still written in cursive letters. She hasn’t prepared for Amelia, she didn’t prepare for this. She’s a planner, and she hasn’t planned anything that’s going on right now.

The newborn in her arms gives her ribs another soft, tiny kick.

Lexa steps towards the crib, intent on putting her down.

“Wait!” Clarke exclaims, and Lexa jumps. “I’m going to remove the comforter, okay? Remember that the mattress should be bare. No toys, either. Lay her on her back.”

She nods, trying to remember all the tiny, minuscule details Clarke had given her. 

If Lexa puts her on her side she could roll into her stomach and suffocate. 

If she leaves toys in the crib she could suffocate. How did she forget that one?

She puts her down softly, minding her head. Before she straightens up, big, dark blue eyes open and look at hers. A tiny face scrunches, and Lexa instinctively places her hand on her stomach, and moves her softly from side to side.

“Sshh,” she whispers, and she’s surprised when those eyes stay trained on hers. Long lashes. Bright and trusting. Lexa feels like some unknown force is holding her by the throat. She can’t breathe.

After a few more minutes, Amelia’s eyes slip closed, and Lexa breathes out a sigh.

“Good job,” Clarke whispers, and the tip toes out of the room. Lexa follows after her, the clothes she threw on in a hurry suddenly feeling just a little bit too tight. 

“Do you want something to drink?” she asks Clarke, and makes her way toward the kitchen. “I feel like having some water, do you want some water?”

She serves herself a glass, and then downs it in an instant.

Clarke looks at her with soft, understanding eyes.

“You’re freaking out,” she says, and Lexa sees there’s no point in lying. She is. She’s freaking the fuck out.

“I wasn’t expecting a girl,” she tells her, and then waves towards the baby blanket that somehow found its way to the couch. Blue. “I clearly wasn’t expecting a girl.”

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that colors don’t have a gender.”

“I know,” Lexa says. “It’s not that. It’s nothing like that.”

Clarke is silent for a moment.

“Does it matter to you?” she asks suddenly. And it doesn’t, of course it doesn’t. Not in that way. She didn’t want a son, specifically, she wanted a child, period. But she hadn’t planned for this child.

And there’s nothing more terrifying for Lexa to go at things without a plan.

.

.

.

Clarke watches Lexa runs her fingers to her hair as she sits in the couch, and she’s quick to join her. She was surprised when Lexa had called, but as soon as she’d seen that gorgeous baby -Amelia, Lexa had named her- instinct had taken over. She’d done it dozens of times with new parents. Help them get home from the hospital or the birthing center, help them get the crib ready so they could lay their babies down. It was second nature.

It wasn’t to Lexa, if the sort of nervous breakdown Clarke felt she was on the border of was any indication.

“It’s not the fact she’s a girl,” Lexa says finally, answering her previous question. “I...I mean.” Lexa sighs. “What if I’m not good at this -with a girl? I’m a lesbian, Clarke! What if when she’s older she wants advice on boys?”

Clarke contains a smile.

“I’m sure you can still help her then.” 

Clarke is tempted to joke around and say that in that case she could offer some answers, but she knows this isn’t how the job works. She’s gotten too close to Lexa already, telling her family when the adoption fell through and visiting her when she didn’t have to, and it’s true that they share an acquaintance, but she most likely won’t watch her daughter grow up.

She’s a doula, nothing more. And she could be a friend, one of those that meet twice a year when there’s an important birthday -but nothing close to offering relationship advice to a pre-teen. 

She needs to stop thinking like that.

“Lexa, you have a daughter,” she tells her. “That’s…wonderful.”

Lexa looks up at her, and her face lights up with a nervous smile.

“I know.”

“That baby sleeping in there is going to grow up to call you mommy, and she’s going to want you to do her hair, and to teach her how to kick a ball and dance and read to her every night. You have a child. This is what you’ve been waiting for. Don’t let fear stop you from feeling that right now.”

A slow smile spreads across Lexa’s face at Clarke’s words, until her face is positively shining.

“I have a daughter,” she says, awed. “Oh my God, I have a daughter.”

“Yeah, you do,” Clarke tells her, just a bit emotional herself. She can’t help it in moments like this. “You do and she’s beautiful.

 


End file.
